The Treasure of Nazareth
by chocolatetater-tot
Summary: The Piece of Eden is ridden forever from this world, no longer to harm, but it seems harm has not yet parted. It now threatens the lives of innocence and challenges divinity: Altaïr. The life of the Fair One is hanging by a thread. Details inside.
1. Disclaimer

Disclaimer: I do not own Assassin's Creed.

Description: This story is sort of like a follow-up after Al Maulim's death. It picks up shortly after the Piece of Eden is destroyed and everyone's life gets back on track. The cities used in this story are real cities in Israel, but the history behind the cities are unknown to me; I only did enough research to find some new city names other than the four mentioned in the game.

The story is about a secret kept locked away in a neighboring city called Nazareth. What is hidden there is a unique, but equally as dangerous treasure that only two people know how to access: the leader Demario, and his daughter, Alessa, who is the princess of the city. A group of rogues have heard myths about the treasure and they are eagerly willing to do anything to discover the truth. The Assassin's Bureau discovers the sinister rogues' plans and thus, send their best, Altaír, to reach the royal family before the group of killers do first. Although the fair Alessa contains the information about the hidden treasure, she is unaware of her knowledge, only time can decide their fates.


	2. The Angel of Death

The Angel of Death

Clouds passed over the sun, casting a vale of shadows onto the world below it. The warm breeze picked up its pace, blowing sand through the air, causing it to navigate around a white cloaked figure, whose head hung low. The figure's eyes were concealed under the shadow emitted by his hood, which prevented the teasing sand to irritate his eyes. His deadpan expression reflected his staid mood and displayed his concentration on the scene before him.

Shining from behind the grey clouds and relighting the world around him, was the sun, which lit up his tanned face, exposing the facial features that were once hidden. He had rugged facial appearances and a very define structure; a faint scar ran from his upper right side of his lip down to the chin. His darkened eyes glistened in the light as they glanced down and locked onto a divinely, proud looking man, but quickly reverted from the man to the sentries that patrolled the roofs.

The roof sentries appeared professional and rather intimidating, but he was clever and he knew how to handle these daunting and equally as stubborn men. A plan had quickly concocted in his intelligent mind and he instantly knew what must be done before proceeding to his main goal. These few archers posed a threat for him in the upcoming future and they had to be eliminated at once.

He stood up swiftly from his crouched position and began making his way towards the other rooftops by leaping onto anything capable of holding his weight; using any broken column, rooftop, and prominent as a way to reach his prey faster. The cat-like man was skilled at making such lithe movements, enough to say that he made it appear rather simple, it was like second nature to him.

The oblivious archer had his back turned, leaving him an easy target, his stride was lazy and mirrored his somnolent mood. Little did the man know that he was being pursued and that his life was slowly ticking away. He let loose a prolonged yawn while turning a corner with bow in hand, while the white cloaked assassin used this as a chance to strike.

As he prowled closer to the unaware sentry, he bent his knees and kicked off one of the buildings raised slightly higher, throwing his arm behind his head and opening his palm to expose a hidden blade. The assassin landed on the archer's backside, placing his unarmed hand on the guard's shoulder, driving the sharp blade into his prey's neck. A pained, shrill scream produced out his widened mouth but was quickly altered into a muffled choke once his face collided into the sanded ground.

Of course, the horrid shriek didn't go unnoticed; a nearby patroller turned his attention towards the recent noise and was now walking towards the sound uncertainly, with a hand grasping his sword. The unnerved man's thoughts began running wild and he could only begin to imagine what had caused such a frightened cry. The assassin already predicted these events and had left his spot from the ground, leaving the corpse out in the open. Almost instantly, the nearing guard had spotted the motionless foot of the dead man from behind a small watch tower; he ran to the side of his murdered comrade.

"Who has done this?! Show yourself heathen!" He demanded bravely, turning his head in all directions in hopes of finding the culprit, but in reality, he was hiding his growing fear. He only hoped and wished the killer didn't appear. The anxious sentinel was now kneeling by the dead man's side and was searching for the cause of death, which was distinctly obvious, since he spotted it immediately. The bleeding wound to the back of the man's neck had been a perfect hit to the spine; the lingering silence was increasing the man's suspension. His heart was beginning to race; he could feel it pounding irrepressibly in his chest, while a lump in his throat formed. The distressed man could feel death approaching…

His eyes moved from the bleeding injury towards a clear image of a man silhouetted as a shadow onto the ground in front of him. Grabbing the hilt of his sword, he rounded his heels to avert his inevitable death but failed profoundly. He was met with a piercing sting in his stomach and the face of his killer who showed little emotion. The sentry was able to deny death just long enough to curse the assassin just before he toppled to the rooftop.

The hidden blade on the mystery man's arm retracted back into concealment as he moved towards the roof's edge firmly, swinging his shoulders in a dominant manner. He leaned over the side, with one foot resting on the upraised edge of the roof and peered down into the ocean of people populating the city streets. Even though he had lost sight of his assassination target briefly, he was able to promptly pick him out amongst the people.

His target was clearly noticeable, with red robes trimmed with gold-tented linen, which lay under his chain mail chest piece, not to mention his entourage of guards that marched behind him. The man was bluntly arrogant and proud of his powerful position amongst his followers and even insurrectionists; he showed this pride with his gaudy apparel. The assassin's face was once again veiled under his hood but his vision was valid and precise; all this white clothed man cared about was taking the life of that conceited man. Timing was everything, and this assassin had mastered it, the only thing that stood between him and his target was knowing when the time was right.

His target, Hamal Ahmar, was moments away from delivering his speech to the citizens he was preparing as the assassin watched attentively. His audience seemed rather brain-washed and/or frightful. Hamal was Jericho's war leader and his plans of attacking neighboring cities would soon be carried out if no one attempted to stop him. The ruler of Jericho had given this crazed war chief the permission to attack any city that showed any signs of competition or violence towards Jericho. This dangerously manipulative man was hungry for blood and was extremely apprehensive of anything committed by any near city.

Luckily, the Assassins' Bureau had discovered Hamal's plans of upcoming violence, and they sent one of their bests, Altaír, to finish him off before he endangered the lives of hundreds or even thousands. Over the hours he had uncovered information on his target, Altaír had grown somewhat of an aggravating intolerance towards Hamal Ahmar. After he had enough information and the permission to assassinate Hamal, he has been planning his attack to perfection. Altaír knew exactly when to make his move and was waiting patiently for that moment to come.

The archers that had once patrolled the rooftops around the vicinity of the speech were now lying dead, which left a gap in their defense and a way of escape for Altaír once his mission was complete. But first, the skilled assassin must become one with the crowd and to do that, he must be on the ground with them. He gazed down into the streets and noticed a large stack of hay; a useful device for cushioning long falls. It was an ideal way of reaching the streets without drawing too much attention to himself.

He crept to the edge just a bit further to prepare himself for a leap of faith. Altaír sprung off the side of the beige building, opening his arms to his sides, stomach parallel to the ground, with his legs outstretched behind him; the leap was very bird-like. Flipping through the air to permit his rear to face the ground, he landed gracefully in the heap of straw with little noise. He exited the stack, hay falling weightlessly off of his clothes as he made his way towards the swarm of people. Altaír moved himself from the back of the mob, to the middle, blending in instantly, but still keeping his face out of sight. His white, saintly attire was designed to make him appear as a scholar, when he was actually an assassin on a mission.

Hamal Ahmar turned from a guard he had been conversing with, to the crowd of curious onlookers. An evil smirk plastered on his bearded face could only show half of his intentions. His armor glistened in the sun as it revealed itself once again from behind the traveling clouds. He cleared his throat before beginning his speech.

"As citizens of Jericho, you should all know by now about my plans to move my army towards neighboring threats. Threats that I consider must be stopped before carried out." A few within the audience nodded in agreement, reflecting Hamal's insanity, along with their own. The war leader chuckled to himself as he pondered everything around him, along with his sinister thoughts. "These threats that I speak of, are coming from cities such as Rammalah to our northwest and Bethany to our south; such cities much be crippled by our attack before we are crippled by theirs!" More cheers and shouts. Hamal was notorious for conveying harsh, hypnotic speeches, and was even more well-known for being very passionate while speaking. His hair was becoming more frayed and uneven with every jerk he made.

Altaír was rather surprised, like always, at how many people a man, such as Hamal, was able to captivate into believing his false words. But Altaír knew of this man's secrets and the man's aggressive behavior he had displayed in the past. Like how the war chief was one day questioned by a guard about his leadership, and thus resulted in the guard's death. The man was slashed to death by Hamal's blade and blind anger. Not to mention, the war chief was a supporter of slavery and torture, he claims that, 'it teaches discipline and honesty.' Men such as Hamal should be banished from this world and men such as Altaír are the only ones with enough sense to know it.

"Those cities I had mentioned are the ones jealous of our strength and strong economy, with us gone they will surpass the competition and soon rise above our own!" He shouted, throwing his arms through the air as he paced about madly. Altaír raised his head, showing his unsympathetic glare; Hamal had his fair share of words, and it was time to end them, the artful assassin had heard enough and was ready to end this man's life here and now.

Altaír began pushing his way to the front; every person he had shoved to the side looked at him absorbedly with much interest. The assassin began speeding up his pace, which resulted in Hamal noticing the disturbance within the crowd. Despite how in depth Hamal was in his speech, he didn't fret when ordering his guards to stop the man barreling his way through the people. The four guards began unsheathing their swords and made a barricade to prevent Altaír from reaching Hamal, but this didn't stop him evenly slightly.

One guard swung back his sword, while stepping forward, but failed once Altaír made a quickened dodge to the man's left and ramming a silver sword through his chest. He jerked the sword upward, causing the guard to yell out in pain once he ripped the stained blade out from the man. Another guard made an effort to hit the assassin before he got his defenses back up, but Altaír uses moves like that to his advantage; the armored man brought his arm down, sword in hand but was halted once a dagger was thrown into his throat. He went crashing to the ground with such force, that the stage vibrated from his impact.

The horde of onlookers began screaming and running in every which direction, while some remained frozen by the scene before them. More blood fell onto the wooden stage as Altaír slashed his short sword across another man's neck. He then used the fallen guard as a boost for his leap towards the frightened Hamal, who was slowly backing away. The angelic killer shot his left arm behind his back, allowing his hidden blade to slide out of hiding as Hamal grabbed a hold of his sword in hopes of maybe thwarting his death. Altaír was far too quick for the petrified war leader and was able to stab his blade through Hamal's neck before he even had a chance to wield his sword. Hamal fell to the ground from the injury and the weight of his killer using him as a soft landing.

The entire group of bystanders were still too dumb-stricken by the events that had taken place that they couldn't even take the time consider the fact that their war leader was now dead. Altaír lifted himself up slightly, while pulling the blade out of Hamal's neck and ran his hand down the dead man's face.

"Good God, he killed the man!" One guard shouted in disbelief as he ran up onto the stage as others followed close behind. Altaír turned his head around alarmed to take a look at what was charging towards him, his face coming into view.

"Kill him!" Came a bark as the guards neared. The first two guards in the front of the brigade brought their swords back but missed once Altaír leapt from the ground and darted off the stage, pushing past anyone who was brave enough to stand in his way. He sprinted through an opening, in attempts to find a way of escape, his eyes shifting in every direction. The pursuing guards had him in their sight, but he was far too swift and coordinated. Altaír bolted down an alleyway and was met with several guards blocking his path, so he used another alternative as means of a getaway. He bounded onto some crates and ran up the side of a building to grab onto a window sill.

One of the guards was greatly fooled by this move and missed the swing of his sword towards the fleeing assassin. By the time the baffled guards had peered up the building, the white drapes of the assassin disappeared out of vision over the side of the roof. Altaír began soaring from rooftop to rooftop, using balconies and wooden beams as a way of reaching the other buildings. Even though the chasing guards had Altaír in their sights, they quickly lost the assassin and eventually ended the pursuit.

"They just get better and better at slipping away," A helmeted guard announced while putting his sword away, while the others still searched. It was like… the assassin had just disappeared from the face of the earth. His mannerism was so agile and virtuous, that it left some people calling him 'the angel that brings death under his wings'.

"Did anyone at least see his face??" An irritated man demanded as he looked into the faces of his nearby comrades. No one said a word, every guard was sending each other inquisitive glances, but no one could answer. The infuriated man scanned the crowd in hopes of finding one reassuring face. "So not even a single person saw his face?" Still no answer. "You people are pathetic… we had about nine men after him and not one person can answer my question." The demanding guard was clearly their superior and his growing aggravation was making everyone tense up. "Well don't just stand their gawking! Start looking for him; increase the number of guards watching the gates!" Instantly everyone followed the orders and ran off in different directions.

As two departing guards marched off together, one of them broke the silence between them, his voice containing a flat note of severity, "We're never going to find him."

The other man turned his attention towards the harsh, but true statement. "I-I can't help but agree…"

"How can one man escape from so many? And the way he did it! I just don't understand."

There was a long pause; the only sound was the commotion around them. Finally, the other replied full-heartedly, "No one will ever understand," he peered at his friend beside him.

"He's almost inhuman, we've dealt with their kind before, and none have been as skillful as that one."

"Well," he began as they rounded a corner, his voice nearly a whisper, "that one was the Angel of Death."


	3. New Beginnings

Haha, sorry guys... totally misspelled ALTAIR's name wrong -- I noticed even before I saw the reviews, so I fixed THAT problem immediately. Thanks for waiting!

New Beginnings

Altaír was staring vacantly at the concrete floor, his face and chestnut colored eyes were lit up by the sunlight beaming through the window before him. His new master paced behind a table, running a hand through his graying hair while clearing his throat. Finally, his master stood still and began to speak, "Altaír, you've returned in one piece and with good news I hope." His voice was raspy but equally as welcoming. The assassin lifted his head up to meet his master's eyes.

"I always return with good news." Altaír replied with a tone of impudence. "The man you had sent me to kill, Hamal Ahmar, will harm no more."

"That's a bit of relief, knowing that this vulnerable world is rid of yet another evil man. Unfortunately, I can't say our work will ever be done." Altaír had to nod in agreement; the truthful words were slightly painful to hear. "And thanks to you, more lives have been saved at the cost of one, but it's these kinds of sacrifices we make in order to help for a much bigger cause."

"Yes, but every time I assassinate yet another sinister man, I fear that the world we live in is far from reaching peace. There will always be a menacing presence afoot and that's all it takes to up rise the hidden evil within all of us," Altaír fidgeted in his position before continuing, "and it all seems irrelevant."

"Altaír, I fully understand and that's why people respect you; you have been blessed with the ability of logical reasoning, not everyone has that. Sadly, what you say is true, but we do what we can."

"And we try our best," Altaír stated genuinely, he gazed up at the window, deep in thought. "Rasheed, I must run this past you."

"Sure, anything for our best." Rasheed gestured for him to continue.

"The other students, the novices mostly, still don't understand the loss of our old master, Al Maulim, and why his actions resulted in his death. I worry that they still don't see why my hand was the one to take his life." He fell silent once an upsetting emotion engulfed him.

"Ah, I see," the master replied with empathy, "yes, I am aware of that, but he betrayed us all, you especially. He was able to use your trust in him against you, forcing you to believe his words and assassinate those who were only dangerous to himself. I am still trying to explain to those who have yet fully understood, but many know your actions helped us all, not to mention, open our eyes." He ambled towards Altaír, placing a reassuring hand on his shoulder, "And I know as well; I'm here to help."

Altaír glanced at the old man's hand, his eyes narrowing. "Sorry, but I can only assume you do. You of all people know what I've been through; it's hard to feel faithful now."

Rasheed nodded with compassion, he could feel the young man's hidden heart-break. "But I do Altaír; I accepted this position in hopes of erasing what Al Maulim had left behind. Why so cold?"

Altaír gritted his teeth together behind his sealed lips, peering up at his master's face. "Forgive me; I'm only cautious because of the past. I intend to change that, but only when I trust you enough to do so."

Rasheed's eyes lit up with realization. "I see where you're coming from and I…" He was interrupted by a man running frantically onto the platform where the two were standing.

"Rasheed, there are brothers from Jerusalem at the gates that wish to speak to you immediately. It's urgent; you must hear what they have to say." The one-armed man announced between pants, his eyes glistened with panic.

"Malik, is everything alright?"

"I know very little, you must go see for yourself." Malik straightened his posture once he answered breathlessly.

"Of course, I'm leaving at once," Rasheed moved passed Altaír and the frightened Malik, beginning to make his way down the stairs. "Guards, escort me to the front entrance." He ordered, instantly four guards rushed to his side and led him out of the fortress.

Altaír looked over at Malik, turning to face him. "Malik, it's good to see you again brother."

The sudden noise pulled the nervous man back into reality, causing his eyes to dart towards the owner of the sound. He smiled contentedly once realizing who it was, "You as well Altaír," he responded, "I see you've returned safely and with news of a man's death?"

"Like always," Altaír smirked, his voice reflecting his pride. Malik rolled his eyes jokingly at the confident man. "So, what was that all about?"

"Ah, yeah, that…" Malik sighed, rubbing the back of his neck in hopes of consoling himself. His expression revealed most of his once concealed stress and fatigue. "Well, all I know is that it relates to a band of rogues and something of the other."

"Rogues? In this area? I thought they all had fled once their numbers dropped so drastically." Altaír's interest was growing.

"Supposedly they returned; that's the last thing we need… more malevolence." Malik confirmed as Altaír watched intently.

"Well, which areas to be precise? Not around Masyaf I hope."

"No, they're mostly to the east and southeast, but you know how nomadic they are. Next thing you know they'll be camping in front of our fortress." He delayed momentarily to think of what to say next. "Their small encampments are scattered everywhere though, but hopefully not enough to become a problem."

"Rogues are like the anti-assassins, they kill for fun, they are dangerous no matter how small their numbers." Altaír chimed briskly.

"Eh, you can ask Rasheed to explain once he returns. I can only answer so much."

The graceful assassin didn't wait to answer, "I will with little hesitation; I want full details."

With those last words, the conversation ended and the two went their separate ways.

The sun was setting behind the rugged mountain landscape and the sky was fading into warm colors; life in Masyaf was beginning to die down. People were retiring to their homes and shutting down their shops, allowing the day's work to be forgotten. The quiet village was settling down and nearing slumber, with no knowledge of what that day had really brought: startling news that only a few had known, and for the better.

Altaír was absorbed in his thoughts, completely unaware of his surroundings. He was unarming his many blades, watching every movement made by his working hands. The master had yet returned and the day was growing old with every passing minute; the assassin was growing impatient.

Suddenly, he felt a presence entering the room, his eyes widened. He straightened his posture, slowly raising his head allowing his eyes to fix onto the wall. The vivacious man rounded on his heels to see who had bothered his tranquility, but a familiar voice had confirmed it all.

"Altaír, don't get too comfortable, there's another task I have to ask of you." It was his master.

At first, he did not reply; he only stared indifferently into Rasheed's eyes. Finally, he snapped back into reality, "Another? Who does it involve this time?"

His master began treading leisurely in front of Altaír as he spoke, "There is a family who is in desperate need of some help and some rogues who desperately need to be vanquished." Altaír's eyes watched him carefully as he moved. "It's a tremendously essential assignment that I can entrust to you."

"So, it is true, rogues have returned?" Altaír questioned the old man once he had finally stopped pacing.

"Yes it is…how do you know already?"

"Malik told me, it seems they've returned and only with bad intentions."

"Ah, so you know of at least that part of the story, but not of the family." Rasheed stated, his eyes shimmering in the torch-lit room.

"No, I lack that knowledge. How do they relate to all of this?" Altaír was growing concerned.

"Well," he paused momentarily, "you see, the rogues are after the royal family of Nazareth and since the Assassins' Bureau want the rogue leader dead, now's our chance to strike."

"Clarify please." Altaír demanded deeply.

"Some of our men in Jerusalem had overheard a small group of suspicious individuals plotting an attack on the royal family of Nazareth, to our east. That's why I'm sending you to reach Nazareth before the rogues do; to prevent the possible deaths of the royal family and to assassinate a wanted man. Killing two birds with one stone if you'd like to call it that."

"How do we even know they're rogues, I know they didn't just flat-out admit it, and what about the family? Why should we care if they're murdered?" Altaír inquired with exasperation.

"Altaír, you of all people should know that innocence should not have to suffer, not to mention friends of ours."

"Friends?" Altaír asked bewildered, beginning to realize that there was a lot more to this situation than what meets the eye. Rasheed nodded with his hands laced together in front of him, a look of calmness was plastered on his wrinkled face. "So, this royal family is our ally and the rogues are already our enemy, and since both of them are involved we must become involved as well, am I correct?"

"More than correct, that's exactly what I want from you. Altaír, the ruler of Nazareth and the father of that royal family is my long-term friend. He is a great man, with a great perspective of the world around him; he is unlike other greedy leaders and that's why we cannot allow his life to be taken." Rasheed let loose a long sigh as he gawked at a torch above the attentive assassin. "Assassin's don't just murder the ruinous people of this world; I know you know this already, but I just want you to fully comprehend why we help people as well. There are good people in this world, that's why we need to value their lives."

"Ok, when should I leave, I feel as though we wasted enough time discussing the situation. What is the name of this barbarous man you want me to kill?" Altaír demanded as he began reequipping himself.

"His name is Mohsen La-Algol, the name should either ring a bell or not, but that won't matter once you get there." Rasheed stated, keeping an eye on Altaír as he fiddled with his weapons. "That's another reason we also know rogues are involved; that name was mentioned among the two men in Jerusalem and very little people know of that horrid creature's name."

"I'll go at once," He turned to the side and strode past Rasheed towards the entryway of the fortress.

"One more thing Altaír,"

He halted his movement, glancing at his master from behind his white hood. "Yes?"

"Ikram should be able to explain everything once you reach the Assassins' Bureau in Nazareth, he may actually know more than I do." The altruistic man announced.

"Thank you, peace be with you master." Altaír acclaimed as he made his way for the exit.

"To you as well Altaír."

By the time Altaír had reached the bottom of the hill, the once pink sky had transformed into a deep purple, which produced an eccentric quietness in Masyaf. The stars blinked in the darkened sky and the luminescent moon lit up the approaching night with its pale glow. All was silent in the village, even the once lively merchants had departed and even the noisy livestock had fallen into weariness; the only major movements were created by the jogging assassin, who was gradually making his way to the village gates.

Two guards shifted in their isolated positions by the opening in the gates, which were nearing closing time. One guard allowed a deep yawn to escape his throat, while the other used his spear as a support for his weight. They greeted Altaír with a nod as he passed them by.

Just outside the wooden gates was a small stable containing three horses. The auburn horse sneezed loudly and went back to eating as another clicked its hooves against the ground. Once the horses came into Altaír's sight, the white angelic steed caught his attention; it brought its head up to stare at the assassin who had entered its peripheral vision. The ashen stallion recognized the white cloaked man and began showing some excitement by tapping its hooves in an eager manner.

He went to the horse's side and straightened out his attire with his hands before lifting himself up onto its saddle. The horse neighed with a somewhat blissful glee as he adjusted himself properly into the saddle, gearing himself up for a long trip.

The provisions were securely strapped onto the horse's side and the bold Altaír had no other reasons to delay. He knew that with every passing second, the rogues were proceeding closer to their devilish destination. Altaír grasped the reigns and tapped the steed's sides with his boots, causing the beast to jump into action. The horse, with its gallant rider on its back, galloped over the hill and into the night.


	4. Caravans in the Night

Sorry, it took so long. Also, I changed Altair's name again. It's the right way now, haha. I didn't feel like changing it in the other chapters, so I didn't, but from here on out, it'll be the correct way.

Caravans in the Night

_We're running behind, at this rate the seasons will change._ Feet shuffled boisterously through the dirt, causing dust clouds to erupt into the air as boxes and packages were thrown about carelessly. "You pathetic scumbags, hurry up already!" Came an officious shout from a staid looking man shrouded in darkness. He tapped his foot impatiently with his arms weaved together in front of his chest.

"Calm down, they're doing fine; it's not like our plans will be averted just because we're moving slowly." A female's voice uttered from behind the man, a tone of intolerance rang through the notes.

"Yes, they will," he turned to face the owner of the voice, his dark eyes narrowing, "you and I both know that the best time to attack is during the celebration, which starts mid-day tomorrow. And look at us! We're still packing up the carriages and the sun has already entered a sleeping state!" He yelled once again, throwing his arms through the cool air. His face was rough but young, a cluster of hair sat on his pointed chin, and his eyebrows were always angled in a slanted manner, the skin that covered his body was a cinnamon color.

The woman rolled her eyes while bringing herself up from her position on some cargo. She walked towards him, arms crossed and eyes glaring. "And there are fifteen of us, along with two caravans. If it's such a big ordeal, why don't you help out? Speed it up a bit perhaps." The raven-haired woman gestured towards the working men, her grey garments blowing in the wind.

He immediately threw back his head and let loose a thunderous laugh while he held his stomach. This earned him a few glances and flinches. "That's not my job, and you're not one to talk little miss," his lips curled into a devilish smile, "I don't see you helping."

She snickered, turning 180 degrees with her nose stuck up in the air. "Yeah, sorry, I'm not much of a laborer."

"Then," he began placing his fists on his hips, "you have no place to talk. No wonder woman are looked down upon… you sure do reflect it all."

This resulted in an infuriated eruption from the young woman. "You sick, dirty bastard! You have no right to say such things! Not to add on, but I'm one of the best fighters here; that's why I have such a high ranking!" Her voice was full of conceit.

"Whoa… no need for letting off steam, we all know you're the best Naiya." His words were sarcastic; he couldn't hold back a crooked grin.

She licked her lips in attempts to dampen the dry surface; her eyes were obscured behind her fallen strands of ebony hair. "Ugh, how do I tolerate you?"

"Because you love me," he pulled Naiya into his side, hand on her hip. She recoiled with disgust.

"You wish,"

"I don't wish…I know."

"You…" Naiya hauled back a balled up fist ready to strike the man at any moment, but was cut short when a voice sounded off.

"Hey you two love birds," both their heads turned correspondingly, "we can leave now." A man with a baby face and auburn hair announced, using his hands as a device for displaying the two wagons. "So uh… whenever you're ready, Mohsen, we can head off…"

"Now!" Mohsen bellowed as he sprinted for the wooden wagons. He leapt on using his hands to grip the sides of the one in front. "C'mon, no more lolla-gagging! The quicker we get moving the quicker I can get that treasure!" Nearby men began taking their places on the two wagons; some equipped their daggers while others tied face masks around their heads. Each man more diverse than the next, one man had brown skin with darkened hair, while another near him had a fair complexion and wavy, chestnut tresses. One man stuck out the most; he was bluntly the oldest one there and his disfigured, jagged face could only show half of his life story. A scar ran down the right side of his face, cutting through the surface deeply, making a trail through his closed eye; it alone told of a tale, a tale so gruesome that the old man couldn't muster enough fortitude to recall that very day. His one useful eye watched Mohsen with hate and loath; he couldn't hide it…

Naiya took her seat in one of the less crowded carriages; she sat apprehensively with her shoulders raised parallel to her slender neck. She detested her life, the very way she lived and breathed, the way she went about her life of trickery and killing. It was everything she had to live for; she was robbed of her childhood and forced into this inescapable predicament that she considered was all that she had left. The young woman was always searching though. Every day, with no stopping. Searching for an answer to her question: 'why'? Why did she listen to such an evil man? Why did she hate herself and every violent works of death her hands had created, all while strangely enjoying it? Why did she always have regret, and yet, never stop?

Fear. That's what drove her. Fear of being pursued by the rogues if she quit her ways or suddenly had the courage to run away. Fear of maybe forgetting, or even remembering, who she really was. Fear of reality and fear… of Mohsen. Yes, she was afraid of the crude man and maybe even herself. She only could wish that she would never one day be faced with the facts, or maybe she did. These regular questions had always traveled through her restless mind; such stabbing, irritating thoughts.

Odd though, she had grown to like the man, in a somewhat bizarre way. She had known him for as long as she could remember; back when she was a frail child of eight years old, Mohsen had kept her alive after taking the lives of her beloved parents. Naiya's parents had lived a life of innocence, until they got involved with Mohsen and his band of blood-thirsty rogues, a mistake they had made and a mistake that Naiya wishes she could have corrected. But she was far too young to had known what was truly going on, and Mohsen had yet to tell her why he kept her alive when he could have easily of murdered her then. She still knows very little of her parents' death and why their lives were cut short. The woman still wondered how they had ever come across such a dark man.

During that time when she was only eight years into her life, Mohsen was far too young to be running the brigade of rogues, he was only seventeen, but he had somehow managed to manipulate people back then, just as well as he did now. He was feared, anyone who had come in contact with him had always met the face of death or misfortune. Even his followers know when to hold their tongues and when not to meet his ominous eyes. Mohsen had contained so much wickedness… it was inhuman; some were beginning to believe that he was some sort of offspring of Satan himself, but those were only stories. He still lived up to his well-known name.

Usually, fellow rogues were people just like Naiya, orphaned or alone in the world, people who felt they had little purpose or importance. These lost, sad souls wanted to feel important all their lives, they wanted to be acknowledged for the acts they did, whether negative or positive. It also meant that these weak people were very vulnerable and typically already on the road to ruin. A man such a Mohsen, with his scavenger-like ways, took advantage of these flaws and weaknesses and converted them into rogues; this way, they were able to at least console some of the pain…but never all of it. All of them wanted one thing: attention. It all came down to that one thing and it seemed rather childish, but what do you have to lose?

These brainwashed gangs of bandits murdered carelessly, stole with no remorse, they went about nomadically always caring very little for the world around them. But finally, they had a reason for it all, they had come upon a true motif and it felt so inspirational. It was something they had longed to feel, especially Mohsen, to feel as though your cause was finally righteous.

They had come across a rumor, a myth of a hidden treasure that granted the wielder with power beyond imagination, a power so sinister that no man should ever come in contact with it. Unfortunately, a person such as Mohsen saw it as a game, real or not, and he was prepared to figure it out himself. He had been so excited the past few weeks, while uncovering more information that he had to admit he had forgotten how the rumor was run past them. Even though the unique, powerful treasure was known by few, one man knew of the treasure and the secrets it contained. That man had kept locked away a dark secret that should remain a secret, but now is known by a menacing man whose goals are beyond imagination.

To the east of their settlement was a populated, lively city and within that city is a leader, loved by many and hated by few. That man had kept that secret locked tightly away in his mind, too deep for him to even consider it; but it was still there, it was always there, in the back of his thoughts. He was an honorable, spirited man, with only good motifs and a good cause, but his life was coming to an end, as so the rogues claim.

His name is Demario, the leader of Nazareth and a father of two. Demario was a family man, always caring for his wife and children, and always sharing his love. But he was also a man of secrets and one secret would cost him his family's life along with his own, unless there were to be a divine intervention, which was disguised as a young man in white.

"Let's get these things movin'!" Mohsen bellowed as he stood proudly on the front of the carriage, eyes glimmering in the moonlight.

* * *

_Damn, what is with the guards tonight?_ Altaïr charged away from pursuing guards with his hands bracing the reigns and his hooded head angling downward. They cursed him banishing their weapons through the nighttime air once he slightly cocked his head over his shoulder just enough to allow his eyes to see beyond the cloak. The three men finally gave up and ended the chase once the assassin had dash over the landscape on his white stallion.

He slowed his pace, straightened his posture and permitted a relieved sigh to escape his throat. The horse panted, shaking its elongated head from side to side while they trotted along leisurely. It was late and the young man was growing obscenely exhausted with every passing minute. His eyelids were beginning to feel excessively heavy and his blink was sluggish.

During the entire late night journey, Altaïr had been fleeing from guards nonstop. Usually, there were hardly any signs of human life during hours of darkness, but the recent events were proving otherwise. He could only assume the reason for all the activity and increased numbers of sentries in the kingdom, was because of the return of the infamous rogues. This was only a hypothesis, the assassin wasn't fully certain, but it all came together so nicely.

His feet planted into the ground as he dismounted; he leaned his weight up against the horse's side, letting his head drop. The shadows engulfed his strong face, concealing his weariness. Within the deeps shadows were his eyes, focusing onto the dim ground, lit by the translucent moon. He was giving in to his fatigue, the poor man hadn't gotten the chance to sleep in over a day and the cool, night breeze was setting the mood.

He peered up, scanning the area for a resting place. Immediately, he spotted a cozy spot near a chiseled, age tree. The bark was chipping off, the branches extended into absurd curls of ashen hair, and the leaves had long since perished. It was also the perfect place to slumber, so he laced his fingers around the leather reigns and began leading the horse to the elderly tree.

He bound the straps to one of the lower branches protruding into the trail in a hazardous fashion. Once his effortless work was finished, his legs gave-way, causing his weight to go dead and his rear to meet the ground with a thud and a small cloud of dust. The sheath of his arched sword, dug into his hip; the impact would probably result in a decent sized bruise in the morning. He had been so careless, that he had forgotten to remove his weapon before sitting.

"Damn it," he swore under his breath, placing a palm on the end of the sword, withdrawing it from his sash. The dangerous blade glistened in the moonlight through the clear parts of the case. Altaïr stared at it gingerly before laying in on his lap, with his arms over top. He laid his head back against the rough surface of the stilted trunk; he let his eyes stare distantly as he pondered. His tongue ran over his bounteous lips, acknowledging the aridity and his thirst; he glanced up at the canteen, unable to move his head, as it sat teasingly on the side of the horse's saddle. His gaze was vacant but his mouth was desperate.

He heaved a sigh and built up some spirit, as he outstretched an arm towards the leather pouch. The smooth leather tickled the tips of his fingers as they entwined around the container; he tugged it loose from the saddle and brought it to his veiled face. He popped off the cap and brought the opening to his parched mouth, gravity did the rest as it allowed the refreshing liquid to flow into his mouth and wash away the dryness.

As Altaïr continued to quench his thirst, a sound of galloping hooves and wooden wheels in much need of tightening began disturbing the silence around him. He instantly moved the canteen from his mouth and away from his face while one hand tightened a grip on his sword out of habit. A caravan of two wagons, being pulled by four horses, bumped along the dirt path at a swift speed. He watched closely, vaguely confused but equally as interested. Once the two wagons sped closer, he felt several pairs of eyes staring back.

"Hal beemkani mosa'adatuk?" (Can I help you?) Came a muffled voice from one of the carriages. Altaïr returned a glare as dark as all of their stares put together. Once they were out of sight, his muscles relaxed and no longer flexed. _Who were they?_ He couldn't deny his suspicion and he couldn't help but remain cautious. Should he worry about them?

The night was nearing conclusion and the assassin had only a few hours till dawn, so he brushed the feeling away. He nestled himself comfortably, pulling his sword into his chest permitting its weight to lie against him. Slowly, his eyelids fell shut and he drifted off into a deep sleep.

The phosphorescent, crescent moon cast an array of blue shadows across the mountain landscape and over the land, spilling a color of indigo through the horizon. The next day was approaching, along with the adventures that waited.


	5. Eyes of Mystery

This chapter is pretty short compared to the others, but I liked it : ) hope you do too.

Eyes of Mystery

_Hair as golden as the sun, arched into circles like the waves in the ocean.__ A body built with an elegant, slender stature that curved into an hour-glass figure. Behind the fallen strands of yellow curls was a defined, pointed jaw-line and high cheekbones that rounded at the tips, despite these features, the young woman's face was absent but there lingered a mysterious beauty over her._

_His eyes narrowed, attempting to focus onto her fair face, but no matter how much his eyes fixed upon her, he could not find any signs of an expression. She was slouched over with a self-conscious characteristic, her long, thin arms hugged around herself as she trembled. Streams of damp sorrow trailed down her soft cheeks, leaving stains and disappearing into oblivion as her sobbing increased in volume._

_His instincts were forcing him towards the sadden girl, a gut feeling was telling him to comfort her, but why? He had no idea who she was or why she was here, and he knew very little of her tears. Had he done something? His growing interest and concern pushed him closer. Her grip tightened and her muscles tensed as he gradually approached. He was nearing her with caution, still hoping to find that hidden face but was still met with shadows. Slowly, his arm outstretched causing his eyes to avert from the young woman to his opening hand which was obtaining a mind of its own._

_She flinched once his hand had entered her aura, both immediately affected by the other; so much sadness emitted from her quivering body, it had engulfed the man's senses. A feeling of despair splashed over him, causing his intense eyes to lock onto her face once again, which was now coming into view after being hidden for so long. She cocked her head gracefully towards him, allowing her crying to fall silent. He felt his eyes move down her face towards her pink, heart-shaped lips that parted as if beginning to speak, he couldn't resist running his tongue over his own._

_He found himself being pulled in closer once he noticed how near she was; his body longed to touch hers, it began to worry him. What was she doing to him? The young man was facing so many emotions at once it was overwhelming. __Sadness.__Lust.__Curiosity.__ Worry._

_A strange sensation shot through his entire system as her fingers laced around his, causing him to recoil with surprise. He peered down to notice her face was beginning to materialize under the shadow veil. Coming into view were cerulean eyes, wide with liveliness as __she brought her chin up. Her face came closer to his as she allowed her free hand to touch the side of his handsome face. The tears glazed over her eyes, eyebrows furrowing as her face neared. She was lovely and his eyes couldn't avert no matter how vigorously he tried; her touch was so sincere. _

_Her mouth opened as she began to speak softly, "Are you an angel?" Her voice penetrated his mind, despite how quiet it was. He had no answer, he had no idea what she was trying to achieve. "Can you help me?" His mouth hung open slightly but no words came out. "It's time," she whispered, bringing her fingers to his eyes, gently running over them making them shut, "time to awake."_

Altaïr's eyes shot open as he flung himself up from his position against the aged tree. Small traces of sweat covered his forehead, along with an expression of disturbance. He panted heavily as his eyes scanned the environment around him. Placing his face in his hands to console himself, he let his breathing return to normal as he pondered deeply. It had all been a dream, but it affected him so much. Those words… '_Are you an angel? Can you help me?_'' those awful words still rung in his ears.

_It was only a dream_. He raised his head as he began noticing that he had over-slept. The sun was high in the sky and lit the world with a golden glow, golden like her hair…

He shook his head, bringing himself up and dusting off his white attire. His chestnut eyes immediately went towards his patient horse which was staring at him with eyes containing intrusiveness.

"Yeah, yeah, I over-slept," He stated out loud, directing it towards the white beast. The animal let out a prolonged sigh while he untied the reigns, mounting shortly after. He clicked its sides with his boots, commanding it to trot along into the dirt path.

No matter how hard he tried, that girl would not leave his mind. She had left a scar in his thoughts and it was excessively irritating. The stallion began galloping quickly down the hill while he thought about the world around him. He had to admit he was good at staying focused, but his thoughts always trailed off into their own little world.

He had made a huge mistake for not waking up sooner; he had such an accurate internal clock that he was rather surprised. But that wasn't a problem anymore, the one thing that did pose as a threat was the fact he was now running behind and God only knows how close those scoundrels were to Nazareth. Fortunately, for Altaïr, Nazareth was only a few miles away, he guessed it would take four hours at the most, but fate had not been on his side so far. The quicker he travels, the quicker he'll complete his mission, which may have been by far the most important one. He refused to fail.


	6. Arrival of Heaven and Hell

Well, here's the next chapter. Also, I would like to know how everyone thinks so far: D I want to make sure people are at least enjoying it! Enjoy.

Arrival of Heaven and Hell

"Once we climb over this incline, I want us to come to a stop," Mohsen instructed officially with his typical sedate nature. He stood near the front of the first wagon that crawled over the rigid earth while maintaining his uninterruptable balance. His thoughts ran wild within his mysterious mind along with those mahogany eyes of his.

Shortly after his words sounded off, the rogues' caravan came to a slowing stop and all eyes locked onto Mohsen, who had hopped off the front. He was now jogging towards an extending cliff that surveyed the arid scenery beneath. The rapt man stood silently for a moment with his back facing the others, before pointing a crooked finger towards a distant object.

"You see that city down there?" He paused momentarily to allow them to join his side to see for themselves, but some of them remained frozen in their seats, one of which was Naiya. Mohsen turned his head to meet their inquiring eyes, his finger still extended. "That's Nazareth…our destination." That statement resulted in the remaining others to jump from their seats to get a good look; Naiya being the last one to reach the edge.

As she peered out over the overhang, her eyes focused attempting to see through the sunlight's glaring beams. Her vision cleared, revealing the clay rooftops of a vast city. It was a beautiful, lively city just by the looks of it; the colors were enhanced and brought to life by the blaring disk of light suspended high in the Arabian sky. Nazareth was a well-kept, boisterous city, with a few high points clearly confirming cathedrals or souks. Naiya's breath was taken away by the city's grasp, it was painfully familiar.

Mohsen noticed her troubled response and sent her a dishonest grin. "Naiya, this place must seem familiar to you, can you recall?" She immediately snapped back into reality and shifted her head towards the owner of the question. Her pinkish lips parted slightly and she bobbed her head with signs of puzzlement. "This is where we first met." Her eyes widened with realization and shot her attention back towards the infinite city. The auburn-haired man standing near her couldn't hold back his sympathetic gaze.

"Nazareth…" she murmured under her weakened breath; she now knew why the name sounded so familiar, it was once her home, back when her life was considered normal and before it was crushed into ruin. Within those thick, beige walls, she would encounter many memories that would threaten her conscience; it would soon become a problem for her.

"Ok, listen up," Mohsen announced stridently, "we're making camp a little ways off the trail near this cliff; remember, watch your actions and don't do anything beyond acceptable." His words were firm and his eyes only helped bring them to life, even though they were still gazing distantly.

It was strange how his statements were like orders to the members of the bandits; over the years Naiya had matured into a young woman, she had begun noticing how, no matter how casual, Mohsen's sentences rung like commands in his followers' ears. It was almost as if the rogue society had been programmed to turn their leader's words into actions, it was like they had no independence. Perhaps, it was for the better that they did, but something about it all had somehow lost its morality.

Naiya felt a bitter taste build up behind her pursed lips as she thought of herself and her peers. She wondered if she too had become dependent like the others, lost in this violent imaginary world of theirs, killing innocents at the waver of one man's hand. Had she grown into what she hated? No, of course not, she was better than the rest, or maybe denial was just means of escape. Denial. It was something she had done nearly the full-extent of her young life.

* * *

Mohsen caressed the dark cluster of hair on his pointed chin as his watchful eyes stared at his working men. Three of the four tents were now erected into shelters for later use. Quickly, his eyes shifted towards the young man, bearing those auburn locks.

"Gideon, come here," Mohsen stated, resulting in the slender man to swiftly stand before his probing eyes. Gideon waited patiently, standing straight with his head held high, while Mohsen gradually left his thoughts. "How close are we?"

At first, his mind did not register the question, but it quickly recovered an answer. "The fourth tent is nearing completion, once that task is finished, our men will be ready for a new one."

"Good, that's what I wanted to hear, after all, daylight is burning." Gideon shifted apprehensively as an awkward silence engulfed the air around the two. "Personally, I expected this to be finished minutes ago, these men are under your control as well and for a good reason, but perhaps you have forgotten that reason." Mohsen's posture straightened once his eyes returned to fix upon his right-hand man. "Tell me, do you remember that reason?"

Gideon's hair blew over his soft, round face, he had to admit he was slightly grateful the wind had picked up; it gave him time to think over the question without meeting his master's eyes. "Uh, well, I would assume it was because you trust me enough to get things moving quickly and accurately…"

"Yes?"

"And well…"his voice trailed off, reflecting his nervousness, "am—am I not doing it well it enough?"

The intrusive inquiry did not slide past Mohsen smoothly, "No! You're not I'm afraid!!" Mohsen bellowed thunderously, rising up from his seated position on a boulder. He brought his face nearly inches from Gideon's, eyes burning his sudden rage. "You, as a man of high ranking, should have had this simple task completed moments ago! Do you even know how important this mission is?!" Everyone's eyes now watched the confrontation frightfully. "One set-back or even one slight mistake can result in an entire catastrophe!"

Mohsen strode heavily away from Gideon's dumb-stricken face and now stood before his frozen men. "And then you all watch as if it's just like any other situation! Well, get your asses moving! There's still one tent that lays unfinished!"

"Mohsen," Naiya called out from over his yelling, "aren't you the one who told us to watch our actions? Isn't yelling at the top of your lungs going to draw attention to our camp??"

The irritated girl was given a few surprised glances, along with Mohsen's ominous one. He glared at her, breathing heavily through his opened nostrils, his mouth closed into a disapproving frown. As he stepped slowly towards her, she refused to break from under his dark, defiant stare. Once he finally stood before her, looking down into her indifferent face, he grasped her jaw tightly with his strong hand and lifted her head up.

"You," he began, nodding with an angered mannerism, "have yet to learn how to keep that meddling mouth of yours shut." She began to open her mouth, ready to fire back, but he brought his large thumb to her lips. "Now if I were you, I would not speak, because that would be wise…but of course, I'm not and you have a way of defying everything I say. Perhaps, you like trying to embarrass me in front of my men, or maybe you just want me to induce you with pain," she shook her head quickly, letting her raven hair stroke against her face, "really now?"

"No, I just thought…"

"No!" his grip tightened causing her to let out a quiet yelp, "no, you don't think… you listen, that's what you do as a woman, you listen and know when to shut the hell up, especially when told to do so." He allowed a strange quietness the fall all around them as he gazed into her face, eyes narrowing. "Stubborn girl," he bent his arm and shoved her to the ground, sending dust into the air. She grunted in pain from the impact and quickly brought her head up to glare at him, but was met with an excruciating slap across the face.

"Now Mohsen, we're burning daylight…" Gideon repeated now facing him with his knees bent as if prepared for any major movement. Mohsen looked up from Naiya on the desiccated ground, towards the owner of the voice, a smirk growing across his sturdy face.

"Oh yes, of course Gideon, how could I possibly forget?"

The man shook his head, keeping his insightful gaze locked onto Mohsen. "I don't know."

"In that case, forget the fourth tent and let's head down to the city gates, how does that sound?"

The stillness returned and lingered briefly. "I think that sounds like a great idea, how should we enter the city, Mohsen?" Gideon's voice was full of sarcasm, but luckily for him, Mohsen cared little for the tone.

"Well, let's think this over for a moment," he crossed his broad arms across his chest, bringing one hand to his chin, "since there's approximately fifteen of us, I would think going in all together would come across as suspicious."

"It sure would,"

"So, we'll go in one by one, maybe waiting awhile before another enters, that way we don't appear as a group." Mohsen had a very odd smile plastered on his face; you could see the sudden madness reflecting in his eyes.

Gideon waited awhile before continuing Mohsen's sentence; he didn't want to interrupt the man. "Ok, you heard him, we're entering one by one," he faced the men behind him, along with Naiya who was still huddled on the ground. Her face was pressed against the dirt and her thoughts cared little for the events around her. "Jamon, Moeshe, and Quasim, you three head on down to the gates and enter how you please." Instantly, three men nearest to Gideon, one slightly heavier than the other two, ran past him and towards the city. Mohsen watched darkly, but kept his body in place.

"Raimi and Naif, you two will follow," he pointed towards two younger men, who share similar appearances, they were obviously twins, "and the rest of you… head on down there and wait your turn." The remaining men jogged off in an organized manner, leaving Mohsen, Gideon, and the upset girl alone. Gideon's head hung low as he stared at Naiya, an aura of discontent surrounded her. "Naiya, are you alright?"

"Don't ask her that, leave her alone." Mohsen barked, leaving his little world. He glared at Gideon, who was now staring wide-eyed at him, unable to reply. "I'm going down, I expect to see you two by the main souk in the rich part of Nazareth."

"Of course, Mohsen," with that, the sinister man disappeared out of sight.

Naiya rolled over on her stomach to lift herself up, Gideon now standing above her. "I'm terribly sorry, that man doesn't know how to contain himself."

"No, he's just crazy, there's a difference," Naiya snapped, standing up to brush the dirt off her clothes, "you know that."

He bit his lip, allowing his eyes to stare absently into hers. "Maybe," she glanced at him, hair falling into her face, "or he's just misguided." Naiya shook her head at this; apparently she _was_ the only one who could truly see into Mohsen's soul.

"You're afraid of him…"

"I—I, no, I'm not," hesitance shot through his eyes, "here, let's get going, wouldn't want to give him more reasons to release his rage."

Naiya rolled her eyes and followed close behind Gideon, who was striding his way down the trail at a quickened pace.

* * *

Judging by the sun and the rising temperature, Altaïr had guessed it was a few hours past mid-day. He had let himself over-slept, which was a mistake he never made and unfortunately, his horse was the one to suffer the most from it, after all, he had to cover a lot of distance given very little time. Altaïr pulled on the reigns, commanding the white steed to come to an abrupt stop; the horse cried out loudly.

"Easy, Fawzi," Altaïr uttered calmly, sending the beast into a state of admiration. Standing brilliantly before the proud man and his steed, was the city he had been longing to reach: Nazareth. Energy of life and multiplicity emitted from the towering walls and merchant booths that scattered orderly outside the gates. The voices of many sounded off in the air around him, but he kept his alert, mystifying eyes focused straight ahead.

He tapped Fawzi's sides, producing smooth clicking sounds with his tongue as they trotted along. A few busy people around him still couldn't ignore his formidable presence and confident stature, even though they chatted uncontrollably. He dismounted, lacing his fingers around the reigns and led the horse to a man who stood by a stable.

The man was sitting on a small stool, keeping his head up lazily with his balled up fist; he clearly was bored out of his mind. As Altaïr approached with the horse at his side, the man's once uninterested expression, shifted into an excited grin. He brought himself up from his seat, opening his arms to greet the now nearing man. "Welcome! I presume you need to rent a stable for the day?"

"That would be why I have a horse," Altaïr replied deprecatingly, letting his eyes read the man's soul. The obese man could feel the probing stare, but managed to maintain a pleasant smile although a bead of sweat began to form on his brow.

"Well, let me take that burden off your shoulders," he extended an arm towards the reigns, which Altaïr allowed him to take. "That'll be…" before he could finish his sentence, Altar pressed several silver coins into his palm.

"Will that cover it?"

"Err… why yes! It will, thank you very much sir, I promise to take well care of him!" He announced proudly, his belly bouncing with his emotions.

"That's reassuring, it would be unfortunate if something were to go wrong, but I trust you'll do well," With that, the assassin turned firmly on his heels and made his way for the gates. The large man stared after him, scratching his head and looking at the horse.

"Well, he sure was an intimidating man,"

Altaïr was able to snake past the men guarding the gates by blending with a few other bystanders. You never know when guards would be alarmed by a certain presence, and he wasn't willing to take any chances.

He gained access into the city with ease, but now he must find the Assassin's Bureau, and the familiar symbol that covers it. With a fluent, angelic stride, he went with the crowd, knowing little of what was to come.


	7. Two Men, One Tie

Here's the next part...But first, I want to thank my reviewers!

xostormy: Ok, I understand where you're coming from, and I know very well that I can get a little carried away in a sentence ' Thanks for bringing it to my attention, I can only hope this chapter isn't as confusing. : )

Ilada: Thanks for the review! It lifted my spirits! And also, I wasn't really planning on turning this story into a romance (not a huge romance fan) but I guess we'll just have to wait and see where my story leads me.

Enjoy!

Two Men, One Tie

Altaïr landed on the ground, the sound muffled by the carpet under his feet. He peered up at the hole in the ceiling he had just fallen through, moments before, allowing his face to be lit by the sunlight peeping through. As he brought his attention back down to the small enclosure he stood in, his eyes locked onto a familiar symbol that had been carved into the sandstone wall. It angled like the letter 'A', the ends curved into deadly blade-like points, but contained no center to keep the two parallel sides attached. This was the symbol of the Hashshashins, the group of skilled killers Altaïr had belong to nearly the full-extent of his life.

He felt at ease, knowing he was behind a seal of a familiar security and was able to let himself relax (but only a little). He moved himself from his position and around a corner into a slightly larger room that had lead out of the area he had fallen in. In the room behind, what appeared to be a counter, was a middle-aged man with his face stuck in a book. The man was so captivated by the words within the pages that he had not noticed Altaïr stride in with his usual belittling presence. He was slouched over, keeping his weight up with his right elbow, using his other hand as a device for keeping the book propped open.

Finally, Altaïr disturbed the man's peace with his deep voice, "Ikram," the words sent the man jumping from his place. Ikram brought himself up with an expression bearing surprise, but it quickly shifted into a relieved smile.

"Altaïr," he gasped, "it's good to see you again, but please… don't—do that." Altaïr couldn't hold back a wide smile from under his hood.

"Good to see you as well, brother," he stated, allowing his facial features to avert back into his regular stern glare. "I presume you were expecting me?"

"Ah, yes, of course," he closed the book before him, sending dust into the air. "A bird had paid me a visit hours ago," the bird the man was referring to, was one of the messenger pigeons the Bureau leaders would use as means of communication. "It was bearing good and grim news though… the message had contained the name of a man I could only hope was dead."

"Mohsen," Altaïr uttered as he stepped closer to the counter.

"That would be the one…"

"Please, Ikram, can you tell me anything about him? I must begin my search somewhere."

Ikram ran his large hand through his curly, graying hair. His eyes appeared rather weary and incapable of staying still. "That would be why you're standing before me, you want some information." Altaïr waited patiently as the man heaved a hoarse sigh, possibly letting off stress. "Unfortunately, I know very little. News of the bandits' return hadn't reached me until yesterday and it's not like I can leave these confinements," he gestured thickly towards the walls that surrounded them.

"Well, if you can't tell me anything specifically about Mohsen, perhaps you can inform me with some things you know about the city," his voice began showing smalls signs of desperation. "Maybe about certain areas I should focus on—or even events soon to take place… anything will work."

"Eh," Ikram shrugged, turning away from Altaïr to stare at the shelves behind him, "there are a few things I can tell you, but nothing that can be beyond useful."

"Go on,"

"The people in the rich district, near the border of the middle district, are very chatty today. I happened to notice that when I had to leave the Bureau to…" he trailed off momentarily before deciding he story wasn't important. "Well, you get my point; go there to listen to the people, maybe they can provide some details."

"Is that all you can give me?" Altaïr was slightly disappointed; the things Ikram were telling him were vaguely helpful. He stared vacantly into Altaïr's sun-burnt face, still trapped in his thoughts.

Suddenly, a feeling of excitement sparked through the motionless man. "Wait, there is a celebration taking place later this afternoon! That should show some signs of significance."

"How much later?" Altaïr inquired, growing interested.

He ran through his mind, searching eagerly for the answer, which he knew was hidden somewhere. He was able to come across the answer after a brief pause, "About four hours later, it doesn't begin until the day is nearly over."

Now they were getting somewhere. Altaïr knew immediately that this festival would have some sort of ties to Mohsen. If it had not, then it was far too gaudy to ignore. "Would you happen to know why it is taking place?"

"I do, surprisingly…" he murmured as his eyes narrowed skeptically. "It's the ruler's birthday actually, so it should be quite a big party held at the royal quarters."

The word 'royal', pinched at Altaïr's spine as it rolled smoothly off Ikram's tongue. "Demario, am I correct?"

"You are, he's turning fifty-six today… yeah, that sounds about right. He's still as strong as an ox! Good guy too,"

"He has ties to Mohsen,"

The assassin's words poured into the air as if it had been venom from a hissing snake. Ikram ended his rambling to gaze at Altaïr with alert.

"Demario has ties with Mohsen? But that's not logical, not to mention impossible,"

"Oh, nothing is impossible my friend," he beamed full-heartedly, knowing too well that it is the truth.

"But—but, how?" Ikram's lip quivered.

"I was sent here to assassinate Mohsen, thus preventing the possible deaths of Demario and his family. And since I know little of his whereabouts, I need to look elsewhere, which automatically includes anyone who could be involved with the malevolent man." Altaïr announced, crossing his strong arms in front of his broad chest.

Ikram nodded slowly, mirroring his gradual understanding of the situation. "I suppose that makes sense,"

"It does to me and that's all I need,"

"In that case," Ikram announced, bringing himself forward to rest his weight on the wooden surface. "You should start in the rich parts, near the temple; it would be unwise to search anywhere else."

The assassin gestured his head in agreement, "Thank you for your assistance, Ikram, it is much appreciated."

"Glad to be of service to one as talented as you,"

"I'll return once I've obtained enough information, until then, wish me luck."

"Luck from above, Altaïr"

With those last farewells, the two parted, leaving Altaïr alone in the chambers of his intellectual mind.

Once he exited the side room, he dashed for the wall, gaining swift speed in a blink of an eye. He ran up the side, using his feet to push his weight towards the rectangular hole in the ceiling. Using his hands, he grasped the edge and lifted himself up, showing no signs of effort.

He brought himself to end of the roof, where it then dropped off into the narrow streets below. Altaïr peered down into the crowd while searching his photographic memory for some reminders of the city. It had been awhile since he had studied the map of Nazareth, which he now decided had been a bad idea.

After a short moment of silence, his memory had found the image of city-that had been mapped onto some thick, tanned paper- and grasped tightly onto it. His eyes peeled open, shining with success; he knew where to go.

* * *

I thought I could have made that chapter longer, but decided not too because I didn't want it to drag on. And yes, I took your reviews into consideration! I was a little more careful with my use of words in one sentence... I have to admit, I can get carried away... long story short, I really appreciate the reviews! - Taylor 


	8. Fate Binds Us All

Ok, thanks for the reviews guys! Looks like I got some pernament reviewers :) (those are the best). Anywho, sorry it took so long to update, life's been busy but at least this one's one of the longest chapters. So enjoy!

Fate Binds Us All

Just like the wind, how it had come and gone, Altaïr glided gracefully from rooftop to rooftop. His feet carried him leisurely towards the rich district located on the western half of the vast city. This way of travel was his technique of avoiding any unnecessary contact with the people below, especially the watchful guards; although this was risky, it was also quick. Down below, in the narrow, clay-paved streets were many lively citizens. Their images were blurred in his vision, but his mind made them clear. Any of those fuzzy blurs could be his target; Mohsen was just another face in the crowd.

He brought himself down into a secluded alleyway, minding his suspicious actions and sounds. Straightening his posture and revealing his true height, he flowed out of the confined path like a snake in a stream. Underneath his bleached hood was a look that could kill, he had now entered a state of mind that had only occurred to him during his missions; nothing could interrupt his concentration.

The faces were now visible, but they were only images from a dream, blending in with the scenery. A veil of grey slid over Nazareth as a cloud passed over the beaming sun, allowing the shadows to cling eagerly to the buildings and people. The sudden change of atmosphere and cleanliness soon confirmed the wealthy district. Noses were head high, vegetation hung elegantly from the awnings of buildings, and an aroma of spices filled the air.

Altaïr opened his palms at his sides, stretching his fingers allowing the cramping to subside. To the left was a plentiful supply of merchants and their small stores supported by wooden beams and sheltered with dried palm tree leaves. To the right was a small gathering center; it dipped down into an open shelter, where in the center sat a large oak tree with spiraling branches. The mouths of many people, that decorated the tidy streets, moved quickly. The voices were flushed together to create a booming noise of chatter and life.

He moved himself down the set of steps towards a bench keeping its back up against a smooth wall. His rear met the carved stone in a casual manner as he relaxed forward, overlapping his arms between his spread legs. Around him were the merchants, customers, citizens, and their voices; the young man had to chime into each one, hoping to find some usefulness. The eyes under his cover glistened as they scanned the vicinity, reading the minds and faces they crawled over. Tapping his foot rhythmically, he brought his head down and calmly closed his eyes behind lids of serenity. Those once deafening hollers were now auditable.

"—I can't afford…"

"—if you could only see how…"

"You know, I tried and…"

Altaïr tapped his foot again.

"Hey you, yeah you! Come 'er!" A merchant beamed loudly, a smile glowing on his now excited face.

"—beat the living day lights out of that…"

"—err, sorry no refunds."

"He's just never around! And the children…"

This continued for several minutes, even though it seemed timeless to the composed man. He picked at the dirt under his nails, his knuckles a dark brown.

"—I can't help it anymore, mother."

"Please, spare some change! I beg of you, you…"

"—celebration today, s'pose to be held at the temple…"

There, he got it, that's what he's been waiting to hear. His eyes lit up with success, a small smile curling brilliantly at the corners of his mouth. Bringing his head up, he cupped his hands together in front of his lips and supported them with his elbows resting on his lower thighs.

"—there's going to be dancers and exquisite food; you know, nearly everyone in this rich district was invited." A thin man stated while waving a hand through the humid air. His skin was a darkened orange and his hair was hidden under a white cloth wrapped tightly around his head.

"I heard that some of Jerusalem's government heads were invited, and to think we could be in the same room!" The burly man next to other announced, unable to contain his happiness.

"It's just a birthday, no need to get all worked up,"

"Exactly, that's my point! It's only a birthday; it shouldn't be taken so seriously…"

The thin man stared vacantly, his eyes shined with the need to want to burn the word 'ignorant' into his friend's forehead. "You know, Demario's a pretty great guy, he's befriended a lot of people, it's no wonder so many were invited. Plus, he's old… you never know how many more birthdays a man his age will have, especially during these dark days."

"…Were you invited?" The round man questioned intrusively. His nearby comrade shot him a leer.

"Pff, no, but my brother was. He's givin' me his invitation because he can't come, wife's ill."

"That's unfortunate,"

"Yeah, kinda like how my brother also refuses to leave his home until his- and may I quote- 'angelic darling' isn't feelin' under the weather."

The stocky man couldn't hold back a teasing laugh. "I got mine!" He waved the invitation through the hot air, the corners bending from the passing wind. Altaïr's eyes locked onto the frail piece of paper like an eagle locks onto its prey; his pupils contracted and focused as the light hit his tanned face.

The slender man scowled at his friend with his arms heaved over his chest. "Anyways, I got to go man the store; wouldn't want anyone stealing!" His husky friend added with a smirk.

Altaïr blocked out the rest of the conversation while he stood up from the bench; the wind picked up, blowing his white robes forward. He stretched heedlessly as he waited patiently for the two men to part.

Soon after, they said their farewells and went separate ways. Altaïr followed close behind his pick-pocketing target, refusing to let his eyes avert from the small pouch on the man's backside. He could almost see the folded piece of paper through the fine cloth of the linen sack.

The man brought his right hand up to his widen mouth as he permitted a yawn to escape his throat; his eyes were beginning to droop and the corners of his mouth turned into a weary frown. Altaïr brought himself closer, outstretching his elongated arm once he was in reaching-distance; the ends of his fingers moved fervently. He widened his open hand, fingers twitching as they grazed the top of the pouch. As he worked his magic, unbuttoning the small bag, he licked the corners of his lips, eyes narrowing with concentration. He finally seized the invitation, pulling back cautiously, allowing his feet to stop moving as he pulled away.

Altaïr watched the man disappear out of sight into the ocean of people; a sly smirk curved under his nose. He had been successful and the small tan paper was rewarding as he stared at it delicately.

* * *

"Did you get it?"

"Sure did," The short man replied with a snicker and an ear-to-ear grin.

"…And?"

"It has everything we need to know! This paper's loaded with detail, Mohsen's gonna be pleased!"

"Yeah…" Gideon murmured a tone of hesitance. He stared at Quasim with a blank look plastered over his face. "What does it contain?"

Quasim looked over the paper with his quick eyes, announcing loudly, "The time, location, where it…"

"Shhh! Don't be so loud! What are you, half-stupid?" Gideon whispered harshly, teeth grinding. "Last thing we need is for more mistakes; wouldn't want to be discovered by the city guard…"

The short but brawny man nodded swiftly with wide-eyes. "Yeah, yeah my fault!"

Gideon allowed a heavy sigh to pass his lips.

Up above them, staring down with shimmering eyes, was Altaïr, shrouded in shadows of the day. The skilled assassin had over-heard their chatter while he was passing from up above.

Gideon pinched the bridge of his narrow nose with his pointer-finger and thumb; the skin turned white from under the pressure. "Ugh, just give me the invitation so I can deliver it to Mohsen. No offense, I just trust myself more than you."

"Don't blame ya Gideon; I'm not very reliable." Quasim replied quietly.

The auburn haired man could only roll his eyes, "At least you're aware of it, not everyone is." Quasim gawked at Gideon; his words were gradually sinking into his brain, registering quite slowly; he could only nod silently. "I guess I'll meet you near the souks in about an hour."

Quasim shook his head agreeably, still stuck in his own little world. Gideon could only stare momentarily before rounding on his heels and vanishing into the sun-drenched world outside of the abandoned alleyway.

Altaïr narrowed his eyes and moved from the edge of the rooftop; his saintly robes blowing behind him. In a few short moments, Altaïr had completely removed himself from the scene and was nowhere in sight.

Quasim stared down at his feet, tapping his toes on the paved ground and muttering to himself. His mind and awareness was lost in his thoughts; he was oblivious to his surroundings and his impending danger. He quickly snapped back into reality when he saw a disembodied movement in his peripheral. His head jerked up and began scanning the narrow pathway; whatever he thought he had seen, was now gone and a part of his imagination.

The wind picked up, blowing trash and several leaves past his feet; it sent a shiver down his spine as the shadows returned. He finally decided that he was accomplishing nothing and made no haste for the exit. His fists balled up at his sides and his stomach churned within his core. Whatever 'whatever' was, it had sure had sent the man into a panic-stricken state, growing more frightened as the stillness continued to linger. His ears picked up the sound of shuffling feet, but his reaction wasn't quick enough to prevent a stinging pain in his backside.

He fell into the side of a sanded building, letting a grunt emit from his throat. The stinging force continued to drive into his arm as it was pressed deeper into his back and twisted upward. Someone's weight pushed him closer to the wall and farther away from escaping.

"What the hell!" He screamed once he began noticing that he was under attack. Quasim attempted to turn his head around, to view his attacker, but failed once the shrill pain shot through his shoulder.

"Quiet," stated a firm voice; by the sound of it, Quasim knew his assailant was beyond serious. He gritted his crooked teeth together and panted heavily as he waited for another reply, fear was building up swiftly.

When he received no other words; he demanded, voice cracking, "What do you want??"

Quasim's face met the building as a hand slammed it forward. "I said quiet," the voice stated again. He struggled under the man's hold, it was no use, this man had him in a grasp of doom. "If you listen carefully and do as you're told, I might consider freeing you."

Quasim breathed deeply and grunted again, "What are you talking about? If it's money you want, I don't have any; I'm poor, damn it!"

"Money means nothing to me; I just want answers, which I'm sure you'd be willing to give to me under the right circumstances." The man's voice contained no signs of emotions, it was frightening.

"Ok…" Quasim replied sluggishly, "I can agree to that, but first, I'd like to be in a much more comfortable position."

"Can't do that."

"Why not?"

"You're a rogue, you're notorious for trickery."

Quasim tensed up, he could feel this man's dominant aura; literally, it was crushing into his back. "That's a load of bull, let me go."

"No,"

"Yes, I demand it." Immediately, Quasim was picked up several inches off the ground and thrown backwards. He landed crudely onto the ground, his head flinging back roughly. "Damn…" He hissed, placing a hand on the back of his now injured head. His collar was seized by a strong hand and lifted upward.

"I do the ordering, so you best shut the hell up and speak when asked." Quasim opened his eyes to reveal his attacker. It was tall man, cloaked in angelic white attire, with a hood that veiled half of his golden-brown face from the cruel sun. Quasim was speechless, but mostly terrified.

"Ok," he replied weakly.

"You're a rogue, yes?" Altaïr demanded with a rumble.

"Yes," Quasim was slow to answer, but quick to continue his sentence. "Why does it matter?"

"Because, if I am right, you know some things that I would find useful, but like I said before, I ask the questions." Quasim tightly gripped Altaïr's gauntlet, hoping to lessen the pain. "Mohsen, he's your master, where is he?"

Quasim narrowed his eyes into a glare, "I wouldn't know, I haven't seen him all day."

"Maybe you don't know where he is, but you can tell me what he's planning."

Quasim shook his head from side to side; he knew he couldn't reveal that answer. "No,"

Altaïr's once emotionless face, shifted into an expression that mirrored death himself. "What's that supposed to mean?" "It means I won't tell you,"

The assassin's eyes glanced down at the ground, then back at Quasim; his mouth was now pressed shut. "In that case, I'll take your life; after all, it seems useless anyways."

Those words sent Quasim into panic, "No, don't!"

"Why not?"

"Because, I…" He choked on his words and fumbled for an answer. "Ok, I'll tell you a few things."

"A few things? Sorry, that won't be tolerated; tell me everything you know." Quasim stared skeptically into Altaïr's shadowed eyes. "Maybe you don't quite understand that you'll die either way, if I am correct."

"What do you mean?"

"Mohsen is an evil man and I'm sure if he knew of the knowledge of your betrayal he'd kill you on the spot." He pointed out matter-of-factly.

The frightful man's eyes slowly peered down to the ground shamefully, he felt the sense of an inescapable death fall over him. "What you say is true… he never was known for kindness."

"And I'll have to kill you no matter what you choose; wouldn't want you running off to inform Mohsen of his impending death. So it's best you show some coalition."

"Fine," He spat, running his tongue over his teeth. "Mohsen has been planning an attack on the royal family of Nazareth for months now; says they know of a treasure."

"What treasure?"

"How would I know?? He only tells us what he wants us to know, which isn't much… we usually just listen to orders and carry them out."

"I think that's an understatement." Altaïr alleged boldly, sending Quasim into a devastating flinch.

"Err, to some degree I suppose. All I know is that Mohsen wants to get his hands on it. He says Demario knows of its hidden chambers and may even possess the key to access it."

"What significance does this treasure hold? Why is he after it?"

Quasim's expression quickly averted into a scowl. "For an assassin on such an important mission, you sure don't know much."

Altaïr gave him a deadly shake. "And neither do you, answer the question or speak to the angels."

"Gah, you're going to kill me anyways; I may be short but I'm not stupid."

"Fine," Altaïr's lips mouthed the word smoothly. "If that's what you wish…" He brought his left hand up, activating the deadly mechanism strapped to his arm, allowing the sharp blade to click out.

"Wait! At least let me finish," Quasim gapped. Altaïr brought the dangerous weapon down to his side. "Mohsen, I must admit, I hate that man. If you truly believe you can kill him, at least let me die knowing I aided the heavens." Altaïr's brow arched out of confusion; he sure wasn't expecting that, but he still sensed an air of exaggeration. "The treasure is just a myth to us, but it's practically Mohsen's life support; he'll do anything he can to find it. He's always gloating about its extreme ability to enhance a man's strength, basically turning him into a god."

Altaïr's eyes widened slightly, for some reason this information was hitting home and it hurt. Brief memories of his old master, and his greedy mistakes, began rushing into his mind.

"That's all I have…" Quasim admitted meekly.

"One last question: when does he plan to attack?"

He stared silently, lips parting occasionally as if he was searching for the proper words. "Oh, during the celebration of course; the one taking place tonight. He plans to kill them all, the family that is."

"That's all I wanted,"

"Then… will you let me live?? I did help you, I promise not to tell--after all, I want him dead too."

Altaïr almost laughed; at least the man still had some hope left in him. "Sorry, I can't do that." Instantly, the extended blade on his arm went driving into Quasim's gut, piercing a kidney with acute accuracy. Quasim bit back the pain and soon fell limp in Altaïr's arms.

The assassin respectable bent over to lay the body down gently. "You can rest now." He softly murmured near the dead man's ear.

* * *

Using her dainty hands, she brought a charcoal-colored scarf over her fair face, shielding it from the brutal sun. The elegant young woman looked over the stone rails of a balcony, down into a garden of colors. Her hand grasped a sturdy trellis, near the side of the balcony; she swung herself over the rail to link onto the latticework of vines. She paused briefly to confirm her safety and the trellis's support, and soon began using her slender arms and legs to bring herself down into the garden fifteen feet below.

The cool grass around her feet flattened from under the weight as she landed with a muffled 'thud'. The wind blew calmly, caressing her face with a sweet touch. Her eyes moved toward the sky and enlightened into a blue as clear as the sky itself. She readjusted the scarf and soon glided away from the balcony and deeper into the garden it overlooked.

She quickly found herself standing before a tall wall surrounding the perimeter of the lively garden; it towered protectively over her, casting a large shadow. The girl stood still temporarily as she observed it with friendly eyes, a light of bliss seemed to flash through them.

A large wooden crate, that sat lazily near a set of oaken scaffolding, was where her eyes landed on next. She approached it casually, running her thin hand over the rough surface, and lifted herself on top so that she could climb the wooden structure with ease.

She had undoubtedly snuck out of the temple on a regular basis, for she scaled it quickly soon finding herself sitting on the top of the eight foot wall, feet dangling. The muscles on her face curved up, showing a hidden smile underneath the dark cloth before she dropped down on the other side. Now standing outside the royal garden, she brought a color-coordinated hood over her head and removed herself from the noble vicinity by running towards the streets of reality.

She was well-aware of the limited time she had to spend roaming the streets before having to return back to her room. She didn't want anyone to notice her disappearance, the punishment wouldn't slide over easily, after all, her father feared for her safety. And to think she had been sneaking out of the Arabian castle for a long time now; she yearned for an adventure, little did she know she was about to get one.

Her face was well hidden from the proud faces of the rich district, but an occasional strand of yellow hair was always finding a way to escape. That was one thing she kept checking for, always tucking her hair back into the scarf with a somewhat agitated quickness.

She loved to people watch, especially in the middle district where people were a little closer to normal; arguing, laughing, and always finding things to complain about. 'My feet hurt,' 'I never have enough money to buy the things I want,' 'I want a pony, mommy!' The recollection of those voices caused another humored smile to grow under the scarf. She had greatly treasured the moments she had away from the temple; the temple her father would never let her leave, the temple that was practically prison from the real world. Her nose crunched up from the thought of her defiance of her father's authority.

Before she could make it down the streets covered in an aura of wealth, a group of city patrollers caught her attention. They marched in disciplined unison, pushing past pedestrians; she quickly realized her distance away from them was decreasing. She froze up, if they noticed her (which they probably would), they would immediately seize her with little hesitance and bring her back to her father. She knew that explaining the situation would not go easy and luck would not be on her side.

Looking around with panic, she did the first thing she could think of; she dashed down the nearest side road veiled in shadows. It was a confined, untidy street full of trash and dirt, but it was her only option. She jogged over to a short wall jetting out from the side of a building and swung herself behind it with one fluent motion.

The marching feet increased in volume; she pursed her lips as she lowered herself even more, fearing her possible discovery. She could only hope and assume they hadn't seen her make a devastating dive into an alleyway to avoid contact, it would have looked awfully suspicious. Gaining courage, she slowly poked her head over the top to look out into the street. She had caught the tail end of the last patroller as they passed unaware of her presence; a sigh of relief blew out of her. Although they were now gone, her heart still pounded in her chest from the excitement and she waited shortly before deciding the area was safe once again.

As she stood, her back curved inward, revealing her feminine features. A few strands of golden hair had fallen out again, she had to glare at the hair before tucking them away. While she fiddled with her hair and scarf, she could now observed the street she had so stubbornly run down. She had somehow completely blocked out the few homeless sitting uneasily in the dirt when she was in the state of panic.

The one nearest to her emitted a pained groan and began rocking fervently in a threshold, holding his head tightly. The young woman couldn't hold back a gasp as she watched with a somewhat surprised horror. She stared aimlessly at the half-nude man, with his mud-covered bare feet and his scratches and bruises; a feeling of upset rushed over her. He was dangerously close--something else she hadn't noticed till now-- and she would have to be extremely cautious when passing him up to run towards the exit.

He spoke in tongues and muttered crazed words to himself as he stood and smacked himself. _Oh dear Lord, how am I going to get out of this one?_ Her mind ran wild as she waited for an opening to appear. The mad man paced in a circle, hunched over with his arms raised up to his bare chest. She took a step forward, wanting to see a change of action from the man, which didn't happen, he only continued with his incantations. Taking another step, she noticed her body was now shaking slightly as he stopped his pacing to stare distantly at an imaginary friend.

She decided her only chance of escaping this alleyway was with his back turn, so she jogged past him with watchful eyes. She must have triggered the madness within the homeless man, for when her eyes somehow met his he had lunged forward, striking her in the back of the head with a fist. She yelped, falling forward into the dirt with a very ungraceful landing. A shrill pain shot up through the wrist she had used for breaking her fall; this caused another scream to shoot out of her mouth. Using her other hand, her felt the back of her hooded head, it stung under her touch.

She turned her chin upwards to view the crazed man, who was still standing close but was at least facing the other way. She lifted herself off the ground, tears building up in her blue eyes as the pain returned with a flash, but her attempts to stand were halted when he turned to attack her a second time.

"Stop it!!" She was able to shout out desperately; her voice was muffled by the build-up of increasing fluid. The man grabbed her shoulders, digging his uncut nails into her clothes and flesh. A screamed erupted from her mouth again, "Let me go!" It was no use, this man mentally insane and her words were not auditable to him. The pain was soon numbed as it spread over her body once her knee buckled and sent her flying into the ground.

For some reason, a random thought occurred to her at that moment. _If I escape, how will I explain these injuries to my father? 'Oh yeah, I tripped in the garden'._

She peered up with terror as the man brought himself down onto her, shouting a battle cry. She used her arms like a shield, bringing them up over her head, but luckily for her, the crude attack did not come and she could have sworn she felt the weight disappear. The injured girl assumed the mad man's anger had perhaps subsided, that or she fell unconscious. She was wrong.

A man garbed in robes that wavered like the wings of a bird, had pulled her assaulter away. His strong hand was tightly gripped around the insane man's arm; with one forceful shove, he sent the man tumbling face-first into a wall. He immediately fell from the impact and lay sobbing quietly to himself.

She gawked with utter disbelief as she absorbed the scenery. Her hero turned to face her, sending her trembling under his stare; his expression softened instantly. She breathed heavily but was instanced by his angelic appearance. Although half of his face was almost invisible, she could still make out his masculine features.

His mouth hung slightly between thick lips, his nostrils turned inwards to create an arrow-like nose, traces of dark stubble showed on his upper-lip and around his jaw line. Her eyes were drawn to him, she had enter a state of shock as her eyes couldn't detour away from his face. His jaw line was sharp, it curved down into his square chin, and his eyes… they shined in the shadows of his white hood, but she could still make them out. She noticed a scar running down the lower half of his golden-brown face.

She jumped as he held out a large, gloved hand for her to take; she stared at it dumbly.

"Are you alright?" His voice was melodic music to her ears.

"--I-I," She stuttered, looking up at him. Her face was now fully exposed, along with her hair. She brought her hand up to her face with worry once she noticed a sudden change in his facial expression.

He had seen her before; those eyes, that hair, it had all been from his dream. He found himself at a loss of words as she declined his offer with ignorance. The young woman brought herself up; he towered over her with at least an extra seven inches. She quickly ran past him with little hesitance, towards the opening of the alleyway and towards her escape.

"Hey wait!" Altaïr yelled out, following after her. His words were deafened by her dread as she entered the sea of people. He quickly ended his pursuit in order not to rouse suspicion. At least he had done what she had pleaded for, he had saved her, but he couldn't deny the feeling of desperation.

* * *


	9. Tasks of the Righteous

Sorry, it's been awhile and it's not the best of chapters; I just felt the need to post Thanks for all of the reviews guys :)

* * *

Ikram's attention averted from his book, towards the opening of the rectangular room where the noise had come from. He waited briefly, with little wonder, already knowing whose feet was creating the shuffling. Now standing in the threshold, with his shoulders back, was the feared and respected Altaïr.

"Ikram, I'm ready to finish my mission," he announced with a dead-pan stare. The confident man was never really good at welcoming people; always abruptly beginning a conversation and using statements instead of greetings. He ambled into the room, swinging his arms fluidly, bringing himself to stand before the Bureau leader on a rug in the center of the room.

"Let's hear what you've got and I'll be the judge." He ordered with a gesture of his hand.

"My target, Mohsen La-Algol, is planning to make his move this evening, while Demario's celebration is occurring. He hopes to discover a mysterious treasure by confronting the man and will do so by gathering up his men to raid the palace, forcing the party-goers to flee and the royal family under his control."

"Wait a second--what treasure?" Ikram interrupted with surprise flushing over his face, "don't tell me there's more…"

"In all honestly, I know little about that bit of information. During an interrogation of one of his men, he confessed Mohsen's goals and intentions; says Mohsen is after a god-like treasure within Nazareth." Altaïr's eyes narrowed and darkened, "I fear the worse."

"I suppose that would be a good enough motivation, that is if I were a delusional man like Mohsen. But let's say there is no treasure, what if it is just a myth? What will become of the family?"

"That's where I come in," Ikram nodded in agreement. "My intervention will determine everyone's fate, that is, if I succeed."

Those last words caused his comrade to sit up with bewilderment. "If you succeed? What's that supposed to mean? Don't tell me you're losing your confidence!"

"It's not that. I just think that perhaps Rasheed was unprepared by only sending me."

"Oh? And why's that my friend? You're only the best,"

"He clearly had no idea exactly how many men Mohsen had brought with him. When I accosted one of his men, he made a great effort in revealing how important this task was to Mohsen. Not to mention, some of his missing men will make them suspicious."

"Did you discover a few of those rogues during your investigation?" The Bureau leader inquired, biting his lip.

"Only two, one of which was the one I interrogated and the other was a lagging traveler. I happened to overhear a fairly large group of them; I killed him to maybe cut-back on some of the pressure when I confront Mohsen."

Ikram laughed at this, "No wonder you're so envied, you prepare before you even have the permission too. Sometimes I wonder why you never accepted the position as our next master."

"A lot of our brothers wonder that," Altaïr replied, unable to look his friend in the eyes. "I'm slightly curious, why didn't you?"

He shrugged steadily, "I didn't think I was ready to take on such a big role, I'm not much of a leader-- too independent."

"True," Ikram agreed, shifting in his position to stare at the book shelf behind him. "But your morality has changed over the course of time, you're a much wiser person and your knowledge of the world around you is awe-inspiring. Our brothers like you a lot more than they used too, Altaïr, whether you know it or not."

"Their opinions about me mean little," memories of his defiance came back to him; every time those images returned he couldn't help but feel as though he had been right about everything since the beginning. His jaw shifted under the white cloak.

"Maybe you won't take the offer now, but hopefully over time."

"We'll see,"

Ikram gave the man a somewhat half-assed smile, as if feeling uncertain of what kind of emotion to express. Soon after, he reached underneath his stationary desk for an object Altaïr could not see, and pulled out a finely elongated white feather. It curved in the middle and smoothed out at the tip; he set it before Altaïr gingerly.

"I give you leave; you seem informed enough to rid this world of that demon,"

Altaïr picked the feather up by its stem with his thumb and forefinger. His lips partly and his eyes focused, "Expect me tonight, with news of success, but don't expect me soon." He removed it from in front of his face and into a small bag grasping his thick leather belt.

"Rest if you must," Ikram's eyes moved from Altaïr to the adjacent room, populated with Arabian pillows. Although the only entrance was through the roof, a strange gale of wind seemed to swirl about.

* * *

"Where the hell is everyone? We're missing about five men," Mohsen growled from under an extended awning.

"Quasim should be here soon, he was behind me," Gideon announced.

"Well, he isn't now," he snapped in reply. "And where's Naiya?? She's supposed to be here."

"You probably frightened her again…"

"That's a load of crock, that stubborn girl is afraid of nothing."

The nearby rogue, was the middle-aged man, with the scar running through his eye. He watched the two bicker with irritation. His arms were weaved together over his chest and his attention was on Mohsen. You could almost see the hate in his one useful eye; his upper lip twitched.

"Give her a few more moments; she'll show," Gideon claimed, it almost came across as a plea.

Neither Mohsen or Gideon could continue the argument once two of their comrades rushed into the scene after barreling through a crowd of pedestrians. Both Gideon and Mohsen turned their heads quickly as the two men stopped before them, panting heavily hoping to catch their breath.

"Raimi, Jamon… what the hell's your problems? Could you be anymore distracting?" Mohsen barked with a scowl.

Jamon, the older, mahogany haired one, was the first to speak through grinding teeth. "Sir, both Raimi and I found two of our men." His expression was rather pale while Raimi gasped at his side, shaking his head.

"I can't believe it, my brother…" Raimi whimpered.

"What are you talking about? Who?"

"Quasim and Naïf,"

"Well, where are they now?" Mohsen demanded with a voice of irritation.

"Dead," Jamon replied flatly.

Mohsen stared at the two frantic men for a brief moment, his eyes seemed to glaze over at this information. "…dead?"

"I came across Quasim's body in an alleyway while on my way here."

"And somebody killed my brother!!" Raimi finally erupted, punching a nearby lantern, sending it flying to the ground with a small wave of sparks. They all seemed to ignore his outburst.

Mohsen turned to face Gideon, sending him a glare. "Gideon," his head shot up. "You said you saw Quasim last, what happened?"

"I-I," Gideon stuttered, shaking his head with confusion. "I have no idea, he was behind me when I left him alone; told him to meet me here in an hour."

"So you have no idea what happened to him?"

"Well…no,"

"That's just great," Mohsen began caressing the hair on his jagged chin; he usually did this to console himself once he became angry, Gideon was starting to pick-up on these gestures.

"Some bastard killed Naïf!!" Raimi shouted, which earned him a few uneasy glances.

"You say they were killed, what makes you assume that?" Mohsen exclaimed, arching a dark brow.

"Because how else would they have died??" Raimi snapped, baring his teeth; beads of sweat were beginning to show.

Mohsen narrowed his eyes intolerably, and sent his stare towards Jamon. "What kind of injuries did they have, do you think perhaps the guards found out about them?"

Jamon was quick to shake his head, "Oh, no way a guard did that, it was too precise. That guard would have just taken one lucky shot with a swing of a sword, and that's not what kind of injury Quasim had."

"So, you're telling me that a guard didn't kill them, but somebody else?"

He nodded, licking his lips, "Yes."

Mohsen was beginning to grow rather suspenseful. "What kind of injury?"

"Small stab wound through the stomach."

"Raimi," the enraged Raimi rounded on his heels to face his master. "What was Naïf's fate?"

The man was tearing up, but it was mostly a result from his built-up anger. "Naïf was right behind me the whole God damn time! Soon enough, I heard him collapse and noticed him clenching his back…he died right in front of me…" His words died down into a whisper.

Mohsen's eyes fixed upon a distant object while he nodded continuously; he bit his lip, causing his teeth to overlap the flesh. He was starting to realize the current circumstances, a feeling of anxiety began building up inside. His past fears were returning and his predictions were beginning to come true.

Mohsen--being as paranoid as he usually was--assumed, that by now, news of his return had reached distant cities. Of course, he was correct about that , but a deeper worry was something that he had only hoped would stay within him. That fear was of the Hashashins; they would hear about his return and they would banish him permanently, after all, he was a wanted man. But the probability of their brotherhood ever discovering his return was slim, it was foolish to assume. Unless, those persistent bastards overheard one of his men's talk; those assassins did have hidden dens within certain cities. Now that seemed rather possible.

Gideon noticed Mohsen's widening eyes and felt a spontaneous feeling of dread wash over him. "Mohsen…?" Gideon murmured.

Raimi was running his hands through his black hair, unable to contain his building depression over his lost brother. His lip quivered and his eyes quenched shut as they filled with tears of denial. "I'm going to find that blood-sucking carnivore and cut out his heart!" Raimi shouted , releasing off an invisible fire.

The eruption of Raimi's enragement snapped Mohsen out of his trance and back into reality. He shot Raimi a grimace before seizing the back of his neck. "Shut the hell up, you fool!" He hissed, pinching the nerves in his neck, causing Raimi's lips to purse. Although the fairly large group of men were well hidden within a small side-street, passing glances still came. "I understand you're angry, but talking and acting are too different things!"

Raimi's eyes peeled open and shifted towards Mohsen; he swallowed hard and exhaled heavily. Gideon watched closely, along with the one-eyed man and the others. Moeshe stared aimlessly at his friend's side, who seemed rather captivated by the other end of the street while he stood unaware of the delirious men around him. It was as if these psychotic actions happened on a regular basis; they didn't seem to mind.

"Wow, what on Earth did I miss?" Came a female's voice from the opening of the street where Moeshe's friend, Hirsi, stared. All attention was now directed towards the recent noise, where it soon revealed the graceful, but solemn Naiya. She stood, leaning her weight on her left leg with her arms crossed under her breasts. Her face seemed rather pale, but none the less, no where near surprised.

"Where have you been?" Mohsen immediately demanded, releasing the dumb-stricken Raimi.

Naiya lay quiet for a short time, while she stared distantly at Mohsen. Finally, she answered, "Out and about, why?"

"Because," he began, his eyes narrowing. "Two of our men were found dead."

"For some reason, I'm not shocked, but your voice contains surprise; what's up with that?"

Mohsen took an officious step forward, "Want to know what I think?"

A silence fell over the thin street while some of the men sat up with interest. Naiya waited impatiently before barking, "Well, what would that be?"

"I believe an assassin murdered them,"

Almost instantly, Raimi's anger returned, followed by a few astonished reactions. "An assassin!?" Raimi growled; Gideon placed a calming hand on Raimi's shoulder, attempting to console his uprising fury.

"Oh? And what makes you think that?" Naiya had to snicker; the man did a good job at amusing her.

"Well, let's consider the facts: two of our men were found dead," he snapped his fingers in the air, "one of which was literally killed right in front of his brother. The other was found sprawled out in an abandoned street. If a guard _had_ killed those men, he sure would have made a much bigger commotion, and he sure as hell would not have done it with subtlety . Which that leads to another thing: if perhaps the Hashashins discovered my return, they would most certainly send some of their men after me. But, those are just hunches." Mohsen shot a sly smile that caused Naiya's lip to rise.

Small talk began within the small crowd, but was soon ended when their master raised his hands into the air. "Let's not get off track now, we're getting a tad bit carried away," his eyes fell shut while they watched intently. "If that is the case, we need to be on our toes," he peered up. "Follow me; tonight we raid the palace of Nazareth." Sand and dirt blew past his feet and Naiya's hair flew up, shielding her distressed eyes.


	10. Honest Mistake

Ok, sorry... I'm taking a bit to speed up the story, I just hate it when people just jump straight into the action without no rising action! Anywho, hope you enjoy! Review if ya like, that way know if you guys are enjoying it :)

Ilada'Jefiv: Thanks for your constant reviews :D It makes me feel better that people are enjoying it! Also, I see where you're coming from, if I knew a little bit more about how people talked back then, I would definitely change the dialogue. But sadly, I don't know too much :( and another thing, the rogues are a rough group of people, and usually from other areas because they're nomadic, so their dialogue might be a little be more diverse. All in all, I appreciate the comments :)

Gaignun Girl: Thanks for the support! Glad to see you're liking it so far, I hope I can keep you interested until the end!

Everyone else: You get my thanks as well! (waves)

* * *

Honest Mistake

Her head felt sore and ached from within, it was as if someone had just rung a cathedral bell next to her ear. Her color-changing wrist was gradually getting worse; looking at it, she could easily think up an excuse, but the other injuries she wasn't too confident about. She pulled the grey sleeve of her burka over the purple flesh, forcing her energy towards something more meaningful.

Her long legs carried her bruised body towards the outskirts of the garden perimeter, once there, she could climb back into her room, hoping to stay unnoticed. It had been the time of day for her to read and study (something her father heavily encouraged), the time of day she usually escaped if possible. The young girl presumed her safety once the tall, iron fencing came into view. She knew she would remain undiscovered, that is, until she spotted an empty space where the crates and scaffolding had once stood.

A light gasp escaped her mouth while she stood frozen in time, with a rather dismayed expression. Had perhaps her father realized she was missing? Sure, he could order some servants to move the scaffolding, but would he? No, of course not; she would deny it until he was looking her in the eyes. The scaffolding was removed because its purpose was no longer useful, someone had obviously noticed someone from the outside could use it to get it, right? She thought to herself, biting her lip as if it would make this image return back to the way she had wanted it to look. But unfortunately, the crates were still not there and the wooden scaffolding was no where in sight.

Still, there was no way of gaining access now, unless she were to enter through the front of the palace, which would result in an uproar. That thought had her groaning with discontent. "Could this day get any worse?" she managed to say out loud, hoping that the heavens would somehow answer.

When she received no verbal reply, she put her bruised hand on her hip and leaned her weight to one side. But then, as if the heavens did answer her inquiry, she remembered that the day could have been much worse, if it hadn't been for that heroic man risking his life to save hers. His masculine, heavenly image still burned in her thoughts in a demeaning way. He had undoubtedly recognized her, the way his facial features converted and the way his eyes lit up from within the shadows. She was rather infatuated…

She shook her head from side to side, nearly smacking herself for getting so caught up. _It's over, don't think about it anymore._ The afternoon was growing old and the sun was getting rather heavy, the way it began to fall towards the horizon.

The only prominent option was to enter through the front since there seemed to be no other alternative; that meant she would have to pass guards, who of which would question her entry or recognize her immediately. She probably wouldn't even reach the vast foyer without being seized by one of the city guard. Her disobedient play would soon come to an end, that she knew of.

She moved quickly once she realized the time of day, knowing all to well what was to come, but she continued to day dream as she passed up blurred images of arid scenery.

A few moments later, she found herself standing stiff in front of those all too familiar gates. The four guards all bared similar expressions and dark brown uniforms; all of them had those probing eyes that gleamed with a hint of severe dominance. She shifted uneasily, not knowing when to make a move or something close to an attempt. Thankfully, she had time to ponder, for her outfit blended her in with the small crowd of the wealthy and the guards had yet to notice her suspicious stare. _Alright, there's obviously no other way to get in and time is definitely not on my side, I need to make my move._ Her hands balled into nervous fists at her sides and her nose wrinkled with dismal; her legs began moving her feet forward with impulsion. She could only hope it didn't look as strained as she felt it had.

One of the guard's eyes averted from space and onto her, she could immediately feel his watchfulness. A lump gradually grew in her throat as she strived passed the first set of sentries, hoping to appear as casual as possible. Her eyes clenched shut under her charcoal veil; she could instantaneously feel a small trace of serenity behind the lids.

When no words or other gawky feelings fell upon her, she guessed she was safe and opened her eyes, revealing the front of the palace she called home. A feeling of success enveloped momentarily, but was cut-short once a strong hand seized her damaged wrist with extreme swiftness. The binding grip cause a small shriek of agony to release from within her core. Her eyes widened and locked onto the owner of the devil's grasp.

"Shoofi mafi al anesah? (What's the matter, miss?)" The accented voice rumbled from the opened mouth of the nearest guard. His face was rough and slightly covered by the growing stubble on his tanned skin. The other sentries turned their attention towards the light commotion, but still stood professionally stiff.

Her mouth parted to reply, but no words came out, only small, hoarse noises of surprise. He obviously noticed her growing horror, for he released her and stepped back. "Shoo? (what?)" She finally gained her senses.

"May I enter?" She asked with hesitation, hoping the guard knew some English.

"La,(no)" Was he flat reply. He stared at her with little emotion, eyes glancing from her to the gate as if gesturing for her to leave.

"Alessa!" Came a shout from the top of the steps leading up to the main front entry. Simultaneously, the guards and the young girl peered up with curious eyes; her eyes were the widest of them all.

There, standing at the top of the sanded steps, was Farah, the girl's personal servant. In other words, she was specifically hired to care for the girl and practically raise her.

Farah's hand immediately balled into fists and were placed on her hips; a set of patrolling guards filed out of the palace past the stocky woman, she couldn't help but notice how Farah appeared more intimidating than the guards. Farah was a broad women, although not very tall. Her hands were strong and her Israeli traits were bluntly distinct. Even though the stern woman could prove to be quite frightening under the right circumstances, her face was still soft and welcoming.

"Young lady, where have you been??" Came a shout out of Farah's widened mouth. Instantly, the four guards gawked at her with perplexity, neither one knowing what was occurring.

Alessa could find no words or answers, she only stood frozen, just like how she had on several occasions beforehand. Farah gestured her wide arm through the hot air, motioning her to come. It was a thick gesture, mirroring her authority. Alessa lagged no longer, she immediately ran up the steeps, lifting the ends of her burka up slightly, attempting to prevent the cloth to be snagged by the anything capable of doing so. She sped up, almost like a prance, once Farah continued to wave her arm in an irritated manner.

"Where have you been? I nearly died when I noticed you were missing!" She repeated, returning her fists to the sides of her hips. Alessa couldn't look her in the face, her attention fell to the ground and a feeling of a childish guilt rushed over her.

"The city," She replied meekly.

"The city? And why's that?"

Alessa was once again met with no answer for the inquiry. She ran her tongue over her teeth while she pondered. Unable to think up anything, she merely shrugged.

"Don't you give me that, those crates weren't moved for no reason." Farah leaned forward, cocking her head in attempts to look into the girl's face. Those words caused her head to bolt up.

"So you did find out? That's why the crates were gone,"

Farah confirmed with a thick 'mm hmm' and continued to stare daggers into Alessa. "Here, let's discuss this inside with your mother,"

"No!" Alessa pleaded, "I've done nothing wrong!" Farah shook her head and seized Alessa's injured wrist and began tugging her along towards the towering doors of the palace. "No, that hurts my wrist, Farah."

She noticed Alessa's desperation and turned to face her and to see the wrist for herself. Once her eyes fell upon the injury, she immediately let go and brought her hands to her face.

"Oh dear, my apologies!" Alessa rubbed her wrist with apprehension and waited for more words to spill out of the energetic woman's mouth. "And how'd that happen?"

"I fell,"

"I bet you did, come on now, your mother's worried."

Alessa sighed to herself, in hopes of numbing the growing stress that the day has burdened her with.

This day sure had gone well, on a sarcastic note, and to think it wasn't even near over. That thought had Alessa rubbing her arms with a rather displeased expression plastered on her face.

Shortly after entering and following Farah, they stood in the large kitchen, where lanterns hung lazily from the ceiling and where an immediate feeling of life somehow managed to materialize. Then, of course, Alessa's eyes noticed a familiar stare, a stare so great that it was both warming and demoralizing. That face, was that of her mother's.

Once you got the mother and daughter next to each other, a shocking resemblance occurred. So often had Alessa received comments referring to that. Alessa was slightly shorter and not quite as womanly, and her mother bared the image of a proud mother and wife, who housed a great feeling of dignity within. Age was taking over the graceful woman's face, but it was nothing to stunt her beauty.

As she neared, her mother gave her a small smile that, although small, it still held an abundant amount of emotions.

"Here's your daughter, Marlena." Farah addressed, stepping aside; her Arabian dialect was still present in her voice.

Alessa's mother nodded in agreement, "Alessa."

"Mother," Alessa began, but quickly lost the motivation.

"Alessa, you had us worried, what went through your mind?" Her mother questioned taking a small step forward.

"I just--I don't know, mother, I just didn't feel like reading,"

"You know you must though, it educates you."

"Yes, I know, mother," Alessa looked up at her mother as she pulled the veil of grey away from her daughter's face. The scarf loosened along with the hood, allowing her face to be in full display.

"You look distressed, is something wrong?"

Farah abruptly stepped into the conversation, "there sure is, the poor dear twisted her wrist when falling." Alessa cringed; she didn't want to reveal to them what had really occurred. Especially the part that included her assault and her handsome hero.

"Oh?" Marlena's eyebrow arched. "Did that happen while you were out?"

Alessa nodded in agreement, pursing her full lips. Her mother gently lifted her wrist up before her face to inspect it. While she was doing this, a sudden movement caught her eye.

"Ha, Alessa's in trouble!" Came a raspy voice. The voice belonged to her brother, who had eagerly popped up from behind a counter just to laugh.

Alessa sneered, "shut it, Ciro."

Her brother laughed another hoarse, but cute, snicker from his safe position. "How was your adventure?"

She stuck out her tongue just to receive another boisterous chuckle from her brother.

"Ciro, you best hold your tongue if you value your freedom," Farah roared, sending the young teen into submission.

"Fine, fine," He added in before darting out from the room; Alessa couldn't hold back a smile, her brother had always been good at getting the last word in, even if it was just some strange noise.

Marlena shook her head and brought her daughter's hand back down to her side. "It looks bad, it's getting swollen," her mother's eyes narrowed. "How that happen?"

"I fell, remember?" Alessa proclaimed, sending sounds of piddle through her words. Her mother only nodded, as if seeming to not believe the story or perhaps, knowing there was more too it. Alessa thanked the heavens once Farah entered the conversation again.

"Time is short, and your father's birthday is starting frighteningly soon, we best hurry along and get you ready!"

"Yes, good idea," her mother added in. "And I'll talk to you about your punishment after tonight." Those last words had Alessa fearing the worse. Sure, her punishments were not nearly as bad as others, such as being beaten or unusually punished in anyway.

* * *

Farah began dragging her along once again, minding her wrist and minding herself. Sometimes, the woman was worried she appeared scary towards the children, in some ways, that's what she wanted; she smiled at the thought.

Farah's hands worked their way through Alessa's amber-like curls, pulling them tightly into an untied ponytail. The way the hair sat had the golden strands falling down like a fountain, framing her heart-shaped face. While she pulled the hair back, striving to reach perfection, she noticed more and more bruises around the girl's shoulders and arms.

"Alessa," Farah began, "are you sure you just fell? You've got some more marks and bruises back here."

"Yes, I fell and landed on my wrist," she replied, then she realized it needed more detail. "I did tumble a bit, I probably hit a few things."

Farah gave a huff and reached for a nearby brush with her free-hand; her eyes still watched the girl with a motherly glaze.

"If that's what you say, I'll believe you, just know that I'm aware of reality." Shortly after, she began humming a pleasant tone, a tone that Alessa had heard since she was toddling.

Her fingers tapped impatiently on her crossed legs while she absorbed the tranquility of the music with eagerness. She didn't know whether or not to reveal the full story, she had told Farah many secrets before, but for some reason, this time seemed different. Perhaps it was because she felt guilty; this feeling of guilt wasn't like the rest, it was bitter and somewhat lustful. She hated it.

Farah lay the brush back down after streaming it through the river of yellow and reached for a crimson hair tie that sat like a slumbering snake.

When her hair reached completion, she instantly started inspecting the work, confirming the culminating work. "Does it feel alright?" Alessa could fell Farah's wide aura move back.

"Yes," Alessa answered, still in a daze. "It feels fine; does it look fine, though?" The lovely girl turned in the chair to face her beloved servant.

Farah smiled, "It flawlessly fits the occasion." The smile and those words sent reassurance through Alessa, allowing relief to spill over her. "Now to pull out even more of your beauty."

Farah pulled back and strode heavily away; Alessa turned in the chair even further to watch her disappear behind a wall. Strands of her yellow hair framed her face daintily, she was feeling rather pretty.

The stocky woman returned, with small cases of make-ups, usually only used by the rich for special events. During this time, the various creams and paints were usually hard to remove and sometimes would result in a rash, so they weren't used to often. But as Farah began applying the make- up to her fair face, the blues of her eyes emerged greatly and the color of her lips brightened.

Alessa finally felt the need for closure and decided she could tell Farah her tale, as long as she kept it a secret, much like the stories before.

"Farah," she said.

"Mm hmm?" The woman almost seemed to know what was coming: a confession.

"I need to admit something, but I'll only tell you as long as you tell _no_ one, especially my father."

Farah paused momentarily to think about it, but quickly nodded shortly after. "Your secrets are forever kept with me."

That made her feel better, at least now she could get that devastating incident off her chest. "I did happen to hurt my wrist because I fell, but I only fell because…" She trailed off; the recollections of the horrific event had left her trembling. "Because I was attacked while I was out,"

Instantly, Farah's lower lip bulged outward and she straightened her posture to place her hand on her hip once again. "You were attacked? By who!? Who in their right mind attacked you?"

"Well," her eyes flashed over to the corner of the room, Farah's growing anger was mentally suffocating. "It was a mad man, I happened to go down a side road in the rich part of town, that's where I ran into him."

"How'd you manage to get away?"

"I-" Alessa peered up with distress, she didn't want to reveal the part about her hero for some reason. She felt as if she wanted to keep it personal and if she told someone of that man, maybe he would no longer be a part of her. "I just kicked and squirmed until I was able to run to an exit."

"Oh, you poor thing," Farah hugged her tightly, bringing her head into her chest. Alessa felt slightly appalled, but mostly comforted by this gesture.

Tears rushed to her eyes and choking sobs took over her in a rain of sorrow. It had been a traumatizing event for her and the thought of possible death was overwhelming for a young woman such as her. Growing up in royalty would guarantee better living and a more humane lifestyle, but it didn't promise safety and peace.

* * *

The gates were obviously simple to climb, the way he effortlessly scaled his way to the top and flew over the side like a bird of prey, made it seem as if the fencing was set-up for assassins. He removed himself away from the iron and clay fencing of the palace garden and closer towards entry.

The day was retiring into slumber, a splash of bright pinks and blues smoothly coated the Arabian sky like paint on a palette. The temperature was falling victim to the drastically changing weather of the Palestine area. His breathe, although not fully visible, seemed to be materializing as he jogged along the stoned path.

An opening permitting light to escape beyond its drapes, hovered above the garden in a coordinated way. His eyes fixed upon this balcony as he pondered whether or not someone would walk out onto the landing. When no one came into view, his hazel-hued eyes pulled away and fell upon the scenery before him.

He moved out from the garden by climbing up another set of fencing, where on the other side he was met with a shadowy form he could not at first identify.

Once focusing, a darkened pool of blood formed around the figure, which had actually been one of the palace guards. His lifeless form and violent stab and slash wounds confirmed the cause of his crude death. Fate had not favored him and he was met with the blade of a man who's intentions were beyond humane.

Altaïr determined the progress of the rogues' had always been one more step ahead of him, which was an aggravating though, but he did not fret and only moved onward. If he was lucky, an opened window might be accessible or maybe the rogues' were impatient enough to kill their way through a back entryway. Which, undoubtedly, the young man was and had been lucky, for he was able to reach an open-shuttered window with much ease.

* * *

:O The story's finally gaining some momentum!


	11. The Chivalrous Party

Once again, thanks for the reviews :) Even if I keep the same few audience, I'll be content! :D

* * *

The Chivalrous Party

Being aware of your surroundings was more than just a skill, it was a much needed attribute when under a whitened clock. Every little thing that occurred in the midst of events around you was significant in nearly everyway. Simply ignoring a strange occurrence could result in someone's death or even your own; and refusing to accept reality would only set you back.

Altaïr, however, was no where near oblivious, his skill came naturally and mastering the art of the kill had only amplified it. He was a human artillery.

He lowered himself, nearing the ground with utter subtlety; his knees nearly inches from the rug under his feet. The noise within the large room had reached a level of pitch that allowed all auditable sounds to drain into a blob of mass hysteria; chiming into someone else's conversation was near impossible. Looking over the thick, clay railing of the second floor, he could view all of the boisterous people with little worry. But of course, standing on the overlooking second floor of the palace's foyer, would not allow him to witness everything. Now, getting from up here to down there proved to be a slight problem.

The main staircase that climbed to the second floor, was centered and pushed back towards the end of the foyer, where other hallways and passages lay. The stairs split into two smaller sets, where a middle section of floral arrangements separated the two, forking to the left and right. If he were to go down those stairs, he'd receive immediate unwanted attention, considering no one populated the steps (the guests were permitted to the first floor, where the foyer and the dining area was located). _This won't work_, he thought to himself, moving from his isolated position towards the adjacent hall. He also wondered if anyone was curious enough to have seen him, but it was something that wouldn't trouble him at the moment.

There were so many passages and hallways, just on the second floor, that he predicted getting lost while trying to find another way to the first floor. He cocked his head to the left to view the opened doorway behind him; it lead down to some other infinite wing of the palace. It appeared slightly eerie, the way no torches had been lit and the way it was enlightened by the pale purple light from the moon and setting sun that had shined its way through the windows. He considered venturing down that way, perhaps he would stumble upon a set of stairs that were currently unknown to him. He felt his eyebrows raise, but he maintained the stationary expression.

After a brief moment of pondering, he went with his first instinct and jogged down the nearest hallway. _A rash decision, but it has to lead somewhere to the first floor_. His jogging stride was straight and rather stiff, it appeared flawless.

Soon after, his luck sparked, and he was able to come across a darkened, secluded staircase that spiraled both towards the heavens and towards the ground. When he reached the bottom, he emerged from the stairway carelessly.

The first thing he noticed was the better lighting, and the sounds of deepened voices that had _not_ come from the direction of the party. He immediately shot back into the room and pressed his back against the wall next to the opened doorway. His arms were at his sides, but slightly raised, and his palms lay flat up against the cool rock behind him. As the sound of voices and footsteps increased, he held his breath and began to persevere a steady heartbeat.

When their distances decreased, he could make out an Arabic dialect and two voices. Whether they were rogues or guards, he did not know, but judging by his past experiences, he predicted them to only be patrolling sentries. Suddenly, the sounds made a sudden increase in volume as they turned towards the stairway, sending echoes up the walls. Altaïr could feel their presences approaching and only time would determine what his course of action would be if they were to walk up those stairs.

Sure enough, one of them had passed him by after striding through the threshold with his hand on the hilt of the sword; his partner was close behind. Altaïr could feel relief blow through him once the first one had not noticed and continued his conversation, but when the second had walked through, Altaïr had not gone undiscovered.

The man, whose expression went from casual to absolute distress, spun around while unsteadily reaching for his sword. Something Altaïr always tried avoiding, but could never promise, was adding on any innocent and unwanted casualties. But when that guard opened his mouth to release a horrified shout, Altaïr did what he could he best: he opened his left palm, quickly activating the deadly blade, thrusting it through the man's left eye. A gargled screamed emitted from the man, as Altaïr released him, letting him fall to the floor.

The other guard began screaming for help, wielding his glistening sword with trembling hands. With lithe movements, Altaïr managed to dodge a frantic swing and drove the now blood drenched weapon through the man's spine. This time, Altaïr was able to catch him and lay him gently on the floor, keeping the man's head up with his right hand. Altaïr closed his eyes and whispered with serenity, "Assalaam Alaikum (peace be upon you)." He brought himself up, feeling empathic, but quickly resumed his stern emotions.

He moved away from the now blood-stained scene, towards the voices that churned vividly at the end of the torch-lit hall; the elegant man glided weightlessly through the warm transparency of the forbidden hall. The sounds of excitement and laughter grew louder, soon taking over Altaïr's thoughts with their own.

The double doors at the end had been propped opened, but only enough to leave one door cracked open; they were a dark colored wood, perhaps maple with a polished finish. As he neared, an aroma of spices, finely scented women, and other elegantly prepared meals, had hit his nose with a full force blow. The smell had surprised him undoubtedly, for he wrinkled his nose and held back his breathing briefly. It wasn't a bad smell, it had just been overwhelming and excessively strong.

Using his right hand, he pulled the opened door towards him, allowing just enough empty space for him to snake through. On the other side, he noticed that hardly anyone had giving heed to him; they were all too busy chatting and drinking. Peering around him, he became suddenly aware of the amount of people and the difficulty it would bring in the future. Not to mention, he had little idea as to what Mohsen, or even Demario, may have looked like. This was an irking feeling.

So many faces, they all seemed to blur into one image in his mind as his eyes scanned the area while he moved along the crowd. He began to wonder how well he blended in with these group of people, the clothing they wore were exquisitely tailored and crafted and his were only flashy enough to fit a mere monk of some sort. But now thinking about it, he could see no holy figures or anything close to it. He now had to be even more mindful than before.

He soon found himself standing close to the center carpet, that had run the length of the foyer up towards the stairs at the end. His weight had rested back against a thick, clay column that supported the weight of the overlooking second floor above him. The people around him were completely unaware of their surroundings and only concentrating on the people in front of them, which was fortunate.

The room consisted of a few entertainers, such as dancers, a small group of servants that served small portions of food that sat upon golden trays, perhaps a guard here and there, and of course, the rest of the crowd. The servants smiled brilliantly at the guests as they offered delicate snacks and the dancers snaked their bodies from side to side, like a steady ripple in the water. All of these things were distracting especially when one dared to interrupt Altaïr's precise attentiveness. He was neither short or rude with them, just politely dry when wavering them away.

Near the bottom of the main stairs, standing before all of his guests with compassion, was a man of a high stature. Immediately, Altaïr knew he was the leader of Nazareth, the leader who had no knowledge of his impending danger: that leader was Demario. He was a rather hardy looking man, although age was beginning to take its toll on his once young self. He was perhaps only an inch taller than Altaïr.

Demario was a tan looking fellow, he had a glistening sheen to him, the way his teeth would flash on occasion. The hair on his forearms and head had once been a darkened brown, almost black, but now was falling victim to grey. Altaïr was not even slightly disappointed with the few, but sincere, descriptions he had heard; he was indeed a strong man and to think someone wanted him dead…then again, there's more than what meets the eyes.

The dancers were only there for eye candy, but one of them seemed to have a sharp interest in Altaïr, the way she seemed to always return in hopes he would at least run his eyes over her body. She was rather crushed when he showed no signs of intrigue. His attention was currently on someone else, and that someone was no longer Demario, but a young woman who possessed the very colors of Heaven itself.

She was making her way down the main steps; the drapes of her tight fitting clothes drug behind her like the tail of a cat. Her clothing closely resembled that of the dancers', but her's wasn't nearly as revealing, it was just right. She seemed to glow as she reached the bottom, bearing a bright smile towards whoever had spoken to her. Then room seemed to fall slightly quieter when she appeared, but was now back to its regular volume.

Maybe it was her beauty that caught his attention, maybe it was her shine, whatever it was, he knew for a fact that she had caught his eye because she looked far too familiar. The girl from his eerie dream had returned.

When she was no longer in his sight, he felt his lips part as he pondered. His growing curiosity was reaching a bothersome magnitude. _Alright, who is this woman?_ he found himself thinking. He had to admit, he was growing a somewhat strange interest in her, not because he was attracted, but only because she had continued to haunt him. He could have sworn that the woman in his dream was the same girl who had been attacked in the alleyway, and that same girl who had been attacked was certainly the one who had just glided down the stairs. Although this irritated him, he little by little recovered his affixed attitude.

* * *

"Alessa, I'd like you to meet someone," her father had said once she appeared.

She turned her head towards him leisurely, "Oh? Who may that be, father?"

He gave her a smile and soon continued, "Idris's son, he's a fine young man."

Alessa was unable to comprehend his statement and only gazed upon him with growing question. The only thing she picked out was, 'fine young man', so she assumed her father had intended on trying to get her to marry once again.

But then realization had hit her. "Idris? Oh, like the ruler of Jericho? Your acquaintance?"

"That's the one. Me and him have been talking frequently about current events, mostly about his recently deceased war chief, Hamal. Which by the way, that has left him completely bothered; do you recall what had became of Hamal?"

She could only shake her head.

"Hamal was murdered, so it left Idris shaking in his shoes, he's fearing for his life, but I doubt he has anything to fear, he's done nothing wrong." Dermario confirmed, bringing his hand up to scratch away an itch on his nose. "I'm changing the subject, I must be getting old!" He bellowed a course chuckle, "but like I was saying, I've also talked to him about you and Ciro, which led him to bring up his son, who happens to be only two years older than you, my dear."

"What are you saying? Don't tell me you want me to meet him for only your personal benefits…" She confronted, almost hissing it out like venom just thinking about how her father wants her to marry into other royal families to unite neighboring powers. Sure, it was a smart decision, but she felt that it was her choice and not his; but, he was also her father and she was also only a woman.

"No, no Alessa, this isn't like last time, forgive me; I only intend to have you meet him." He placed his bear-like hand on her shoulder and began guiding her through the crowd. She didn't resist, but she couldn't hold back an impatiently sigh. Shortly after, she spotted her brother in a small crowd of people, he seemed to be reenacting a scene that had occurred to him in the past. She smiled at him, only because he was so talented at making people laugh; if anything had ever happened to her little brother, she wouldn't know how to live on.

Shortly up a few ways, was Idris and his son, both of which were deep in conversation.

"Now look, son, I've talked to Demario several times about this, everything should be final." Idris said to his son while drawing him in closer.

"But father, I'm not ready for marriage," his son addressed with pleading eyes.

"That's not your choice," Idris rumbled, bringing his hands up to his trimmed collar to readjust it. "Besides, there's more reasons behind it than just marriage, you'll soon understand."

"More reasons? Such as what?"

Idris was at a loss of words, he could only stare back out of the corners of dark eyes. "Nayef, we've discussed this--" there was a moment of silence, "do you remember Hamal, and how he was murdered?"

Immediately, Nayef was reminded of everything, he could only reply quickly. "Yes, yes, father, I remember, and I also recall you being horrible frightened."

His father rubbed his stomach eagerly, his eyebrows arched and his lower lip stuck out. "Sure thing I was! The rumor was that an assassin had taken his life… some of the guards--"

"How does this all relate, father?"

"Oh yes," he chuckled and continued, "I would feel much safer if I had some alliances and I find that having you marry another leader's daughter would indeed grant safety! Besides," a smile grew on his face, "you haven't seen Demario's daughter yet."

Idris turned himself and his son to face the now approaching father and daughter. Demario flashed a welcoming smile and Alessa was hardly paying attention; her focus was pointing elsewhere. Instantly, Nayef's eyes fell upon Alessa as if they were moths being drawn in by a gleaming light; he had never seen someone as fair as her.

"Is…that--" Nayef fumbled for words.

"Idris, glad to see you here, and in one piece!" Demario greeted giving Idris a hard pat. Idris seemed rather small next to Demario, for he only came up to his broad shoulders.

"I'm glad I'm in one piece as well!" The two laughed, leaving both Alessa and Nayef in a world to themselves.

Nayef was staring wide-eyed, unable to find any words and Alessa had leaned her weight on one leg and heaved a sigh. Sometimes she wondered why men, especially her father, could be so dramatic. Being as stubborn as she was, she paid no heed to the young man before her, or even Idris and her father for that matter.

"Ah Alessa, meet Nayef, Idris's son," said her father who gave a guiding gesture. Alessa turned to follow her father's hands only to find a small disappointment. Her father had made Nayef to be much greater than he really was…

"Hello," he greeted meekly. His shoulders raised slightly next to his neck and his mouth hung open.

"Hello Nayef, it's nice to meet you," Alessa smiled.

He only nodded and looked away. _Must not be good with women,_ Alessa thought, her mouth curved at the ends. Soon enough, Alessa had found herself abandoned by her father and left alone with Nayef, something she didn't mind but something she wasn't looking forward too. Perhaps she wouldn't have been so annoyed if her father hadn't forced her into something she had not wanted to do.

"So," Alessa began, hoping her next words would start a conversation with this young, nervous man. "Are you enjoying yourself?"

He shrugged and met her eyes, but quickly averted. "It's alright, I must say I'm having a hard time getting from one end to another." She was able to observe him while he spoke; he wasn't the most attractive, but he wasn't absolutely unflattering either. He had a round face, much like his father's, a rather skinny build that mirrored his growing insecurity, dark hair with a lighter than usual complexion. _Eh, he's no Man in White._ Her eyes widened; had she just really just thought that?

"You're right about that, it is very crowded,"

He finally looked up with enthusiasm, his eyes reflected it beyond imagination. "It's only to be expected," he shined a crooked smile, "everybody loves your father."

"Heh, not everybody," Alessa had muttered, but he could not hear her over the bellowing voices and music in the back. While the instruments strung, he had an idea that required a huge amount of bravery.

"You know, a few people are dancing to this fine music," she knew what was coming as he looked around. "Would you like to dance?"

"I--" The young woman couldn't say 'no', that would only crush him, but if he dared make a move on her, he would be leaving this party with a red handprint tattooed on his cheek. "--I'd love too." With that, he grinned widely and took her hand delicately; it was a rather toothy smile that she soon found to be irritating.

While he guided her around the floor, flowing with the melodic music, he continued to speak to her. She couldn't refuse politeness and promised herself she would try to be interested. The scene around her was almost dream-like, and she could feel her eyelashes flutter and her mind wash away into a different world. She was daydreaming.

Everything around her had been smudged into random colors of life while she thought over her day and what adventures it had brought. She decided the remainder of it wasn't as awful as she had predicted it to be and figured she could relax a little. Sure, maybe Nayef wasn't her type, but he sure had a talent for dancing.

All of the images of people that populated the brightly lit room, had soon become figments of imagination, all except for one. She brought her head up after spotting someone who strikingly resembled the 'Man in White'. The man seemed to be in a world of his own, although there were many people occupying his space; maybe it was the way he stuck out, the way his aura transpired and overtook anything around it.

Nayef spun her around, bringing himself with her, but she continued to gawk at the mystery man. Nayef also seemed unaware of what had drawn her attention away from himself.

Alessa felt as if he was watching her, even though she could not see his eyes or even half of his face. Only his mouth, that appeared to be slightly open in the center, and the tip of his elongated nose could be seen. She wondered who he was and why he was there. Did he know her father? She figured most people did, so why not him? Something just wasn't right, she was beginning to sense it.

Alessa did something she probably wouldn't have done if she had not been so mesmerize, she turned her head to face Nayef who seemed to be in the same dream-like state as well. "Nayef," his eyes fell forward, for he was near eye level with her.

"Yes?"

She brought her hand up close to her face, to point at the Man in White as discretely as possible. "Who is that?" Nayef followed her finger only to be utterly clueless.

You could see his tongue roll in his mouth and his eyes flash with alert. "I have no idea," his words were nearly unheard. They both continued to stare, causing the man to lift his head slightly; he knew they were staring. While they continued to gaze, Nayef suddenly felt a wave of fear crash upon him. "God Almighty, I need to find my father."

"What?" Alessa was growing quickly confused. Nayef released her and began making his way through the crowd, still keeping his eyes on the man and leaving Alessa behind. "Nayef!" She shouted after him, but soon realized she could careless that he was gone, for now she could talk to that intriguing man.

She began pacing towards him; he cocked his head to the side, allowing one eye to come into view, perhaps he was stretching his neck. She had to admit, he had her captivated. His head went back to its original stationary place, but this time, his chin was raised and he was looking straight ahead, straight at her. His gaze had her stunned in place for a few short moments, but she quickly forced herself on. She was only a few feet away when a sudden noise has disrupted the mood.

It was a shrill scream of horror and agony, a scream that came echoing down the main stairs and had everyone falling to silence. The owner of the scream was a horribly injured guard, whose left arm hung lazily at his side and whose mouth had been stained with blood. Everyone's watchful eyes followed the frantic man all the way to the bottom of the stairs where he fell to his knees and shouted:

"Death be upon us!! Death be upon us!!"

These shouts had nearly everyone shifting and moving about uneasily. Alessa's eyes soon found her father who had ran up to the fallen guard. She couldn't make out what he had said to the wounded man, but it sounded like 'What is the matter?'.

"Bandits attack ruthlessly! You must--you--" the main strained for words as he choked on his own blood. Some other guards who had pushed there way through the ocean of people, began ordering people to leave and return home. Sure enough, the man had fallen to the floor with a 'thud' and a near lifeless grunt, leaving everyone completely dumb-stricken and at a loss of words. Alessa had looked back in hopes of finding her mystery man, but was met with an empty space. He was gone.


	12. In a Blink of An Eye

Ok, this chapter is a bit intense o.o at least I think so! It's a little long, but that's what makes a good chapter ;) Once again, thanks for the reviews, they're greatly loved.

* * *

In a Blink of An Eye

"He's dead," a guard inspecting the critically injured man stated matter-of-factly.

Demario was hovering above both of them, unable to comprehend the brutality. He ran a hand through his dark hair and turned to face the crowd. The sea of people had moved little and chatted nervously amongst themselves; the only sounds emitted from their whispers and the guards' hollers. Demario grew suddenly impatient, "Why are these people still here? Get them out, now." The guard peered up from his crouched position, allowing his eyes to narrow and shift towards the people.

He immediately stood up and began shouting orders to his comrades, they hesitated little and forced the guests out by waving their arms.

Demario cupped his hands around his widening mouth and bellowed, "Marlena!" Relief flushed over his face when he caught glimpse of his wife pushing her way towards him. He hugged her tightly, hoping to wash away a growing sense of horror, and perhaps guilt.

Nayef was able to find his father, although it proved to be difficult with all of the guests clustering and pushing together. He siezed his father's wrist, causing the round man to look up swiftly with panic. "Father, an assassin," Nayef panted, pulling himself closer to his worrying father.

Idris was able to pick out the one word that frightened him the most: assassin. His face reddened and his eyebrows furrowed. "An assassin! Where??"

Nayef pointed an elongated finger, "He was standing over--"

Suddenly, the once steady sea of people, transitioned into hysterical waves of fear. Screams and cries erupted within the swarm of people as they ran about aimlessly in any direction possible. Nayef and Idris was separated and shoved about; Nayef soon found himself being carried along and was unable to push back.

"What's going on??" Demario roared, glaring at the nearby guard. The guard shook his head from side to side, keeping his eyes locked in place. "Where's Alessa and Ciro??" Marlena peered up at him with terror glowing in her blue eyes.

The guard suddenly cursed and ran down the steps; whatever had him dashing had everyone screaming.

A streak of gleaming light caught Demario's eyes; the light pulled his attention towards a man who had just toppled to the floor clutching a silver object that protruded from his throat. His eyes focused and soon revealed the silver object to be a knife now tainted with crimson fluid.

Alessa brought her hands to her mouth to hold back a shrill scream once blood hit her clothes. Her eyes watched as a man before her came to a drastic stop when the point of a keen knife shot through his forehead. Tears filled her eyes when she could no longer hold back the intense feeling of absolute fright; the only thing she could see beyond the damp haze of her tears, were the screaming mouths of the panic-stricken people.

"Alessa!" She heard the scream of a raspy voice, whose of which belonged to her brother. The young girl rounded on her heels to face her brother, whom she could not find.

Ciro?" She shouted into the crowd after hearing her name being hollered again. She was pushed side to side as the people ran for an exit in attempts to escape from this hell with their lives. The top of mahogany hair had her running towards it frantically, for she recognized it as Ciro's.

"Alessa!" This time it was a scream.

"Ciro, I'm coming!!" The tears in her eyes were streaming down her cheeks, she couldn't contain them as her brother's screams increased in volume. She suddenly took a painful hit to the side as a man ran into her, causing her to go flying into the ground. Alessa immediately covered her head with her arms in fear of being trampled. Her body was kicked and her legs were stepped on several times before the pain began to finally die down. She peered out from under her arms to see only a few people running around her; the others must have finally made it to the exit. Using her now injured limbs, she lifted herself onto her feet and began sprinting towards the place where she had heard her brother.

Never had she ran so fast; worry had adrenaline rushing through her veins. When people no longer obscured her vision, she spotted her brother, who was now lying on the ground with a body covering him.

"Alessa!" Came a muffled scream from under the dead man's body.

"Oh God--Ciro! I'm here!" Alessa cried pushing the bleeding man's body to the side, revealing the terrorized Ciro underneath. He had entered a state of shock and could only stare blankly at his sister. His eyes were slightly blood-shot from the tears that had once flowed from them.

Alessa crouched by him, shaking him violently, "Ciro, snap out of it! I'm here, you're alright!" The people were now limited and out of the building, probably far out of the vicinity of the palace by now. Demario could now see his kids from where he stood next to his wife. A few lifeless bodies lay about and the only signs of life were emitting from the crying Alessa and the disembodied movements from the second floor.

Ciro began to stir once he could finally hear his sister once again. His vision was no longer hazy and his senses were returning. He sat up quickly, embracing his sobbing sister.

"Alessa, Ciro, get over here now!" Demario shouted with grinding teeth, signaling them with a waving arm.

Alessa and Ciro jumped from their positions when a guard blared out a pained cry. Their attention fell onto a guard laying face first into a pool of blood, with a man's foot propped on his back. Alessa looked up towards the owner of the foot, to see a sinister looking man, with a face mask hiding his face. Her eyes darted towards a blood drenched short sword at his side.

The several guards that still remained standing, shrieked and charged towards the man, who was no longer alone; behind him were three others wielding deadly blades. The men collided and broke out into violent fight. Sparks flew and rough voices filled the air.

Alessa screamed and covered Ciro's face when one of the guards had fallen backward with a gash running down his face and through his throat. The sparks were now accompanied with the blood of the dead.

"Father!" Ciro shrieked and pointed a trembling finger. Alessa followed his finger, where she was met with her father and mother being siezed by dark figures.

"Children, run!" hollered their father as he wrestled two men, forcing them away from his wife.

As Ciro and Alessa both stood, their father fell silent after taking a hit to the back of the head. Their mother cried out and struggled within their grasps.

"Run Alessa!" Ciro grabbed his sister's quivering hand and began tugging once he noticed the four men, that had fought the guards, were now running for them. Alessa hesitated little and followed her brother down a nearby hallway, they both panted and searched for steady breathing. She peered over her shoulder to see them right on their tails with evil burning in their eyes.

Ciro suddenly was whip-lashed forward as he was tackled to the floor. He could hear Alessa screaming and choking on her on build up of spit while the man lifted him up. He flailed and kicked, hoping to free himself from this man's death grip, but was met with a stinging pain in the cheek. Blackness filled his vision after taking a hit to the face; for a moment, he had forgotten where he stood.

As the four men dragged them back into the foyer, Alessa still fought recklessly, even though her energy was draining by the second. Her retaliation faded when she was smacked harshly across the face.

"Shut up, wench!" One of the figures hissed.

"Don't hit her!" Ciro growled while he struggled.

Suddenly, a sword drove through the man's back and out his chest. His eyes widened and his voice strained. Ciro stared dumb-stricken at the point of the sword as it glistened like a ruby in the sun. The sword was yanked out and the body was left to crash to the ground.

"What the--" One of the men inquired as they all turned to face the Man in White. Alessa gasped once she realized who it was.

The man held his sword tightly at his side and his mouth lay frightening flat under his white hood.

"Assassin!!" The bandit holding Ciro shouted, pulling back quickly making his way for the stairs. Everyone's attention now fell on Altaïr, who remained still and intimidating as always. Alessa watched him with confusion as his eyes came into view and glared daggers into the men's souls. The other two withdrew their daggers and pointed them threateningly at him all while taking small steps backwards.

Mohsen stared at Altaïr from his position on the stairs next to the unconscious Demario and the crying Marlena. He felt his lip twitch and he teeth grind as he observed the attacker. Altaïr peered up to return the stare, his eyes seem to shine with realization as Mohsen fidgeted uneasily.

Gideon took a small step forward with interest away from Mohsen; he seemed rather drawn to the assassin. "Mohsen--" Gideon whispered, turning his head so that he could view him.

Mohsen nodded as he bit his lip, he instantly knew what to do. He whistled sharply, causing the two rogues near Altaïr to look up with growing terror. "You two, " Mohsen pointed a dagger, "stay back and kill that fiend!" The both of them peered at each other with raised eyebrows. "And the rest of you, follow me." At that moment, the remaining rogues, aside from the two ordered to stay behind, had flooded towards Mohsen like ravenous dogs. There were probably thirteen all together.

The group of rogues disappeared out of sight while Altaïr watched in distress; he was watching his target escape. Suddenly, one of the rogues lunged forward, brandishing a short sword with intense fury. Altaïr was quick on his toes and evaded the attack by leaning low to the ground.

He balled a fist and drove it into the rogue's stomach, which earned him a muffled grunt. The rogue flinched and was met with a strike to the chin, causing his teeth to smash together and blood to spit out. Altaïr then kicked the stunned man away from combat and into the floor. He quickly turned to face the other opponent who had moved little from his position and only watched frozen in time.

Altaïr brought his sword under his left arm and released the build-up of strength, resulting in the sword to go soaring through the air towards the rogue's clumsy deflect. Sparks shot out from the contact of the two blades and the man stumbled for balance. He quickly regained his footing and lunged towards Altaïr with surprising swiftness. His attempted attack failed when his dagger was parried and his weight fell to his knees.

The rogue was able to stare into Altaïr's intense face as he brought his sword down into he side of his neck. Blood shot out of wound, along with an agonizing scream from his widened mouth. Altaïr slid the sword out of the flesh and kicked the rogue away; he now faced the stirring other. Altaïr sheathed his sword and began striding towards the man who was on all fours, wiping the blood from his mouth. He was met with death once Altaïr pushed him to the floor and drove the blade from under his left arm through the man's back.

Before he knew it, he had lost sight of Mohsen and the family. He could only remember which route they took, nothing more; so he sprinted towards the end of the room where the stairs stood, and ran down an empty hallway. His breath was steady but his worry was increasing; he could hear the shouts of guards in the distance.

* * *

"Where is it old man?" Mohsen demanded as he shook Demario by the back of his neck. Demario was hunched over and could only shake his head slowly as his family watched with anxiety.

"I--I don't know what you're talking about Mohsen." Demario managed to say. Mohsen leaned forward so that his mouth was next to the man's ear.

"You're not a very good liar, you best start revealing the location of the treasure if you value your life."

Demario leered at Mohsen from the corner of his eye and for a moment he held his breath to ponder. Finally, he shook his head again and said, "No, that will not happen."

"Demario, what's he talking about?" Marlena questioned from the corner where she was entwined by Raimi.

"Nothing my dear," Demario replied with a flat tone.

Mohsen laughed at this, "Even your wife doesn't know? For some reason, I'm finding all of this to be funny."

Alessa's eyes met Naiya's; she had not noticed a woman within the men before, surely her presence there was significant. Naiya stared vacantly with half of her face hidden by a scarf.

When Mohsen got no reply from Demario, he flung the aging man to the ground and kicked him in the stomach. "Speak when spoken too!"

Alessa cried out, "What do you want from us?"

Mohsen looked up from the ground towards her, his eyes narrowing and his teeth grinding from behind his pursed lips. He took a step forward and brought his hand to her face. She nearly spat on him as he observed her.

"I remember you," he murmured. She had no idea what he was referring too, she could only stare absent-mindedly. He released her face and shot Demario a sinister grin.

"How 'bout we make a compromise, good friend," he inquired as he ambled closer to the recoiled man on the floor. "Your family's life in exchange for the treasure, how 'bout it?"

Demario rolled over on his back and stared up, blinking slowly. He was in no mood for compromises. "Mohsen," he began, "the treasure's no longer around, it's not here, I--"

"Liar!!" Mohsen screamed causing a few people to flinch. "You're a pretty damned good liar, you slick bastard." He pointed a finger at an inexistent object and began yelling, "That's not what my father said and you know it! You both hid that treasure, and you both know where it is!!"

"Demario, just tell him!" Marlena cried. She sobbed while she stared lovingly at her children. Mohsen peered over his shoulder at her and was hit with a crude idea. He straightened his posture, and brushed off his clothes with an expression of deathly severity plastered on his face. Everyone watched, unaware of his next move. His next move would be ruthless and unkind, for he knew death was on his tail.

"Fine," he hissed, "down with his wife." Instantly, a dagger was brought to Marlena's throat; Ciro and Alessa began to fiercely plead and wail.

"No! Please, don't--" Ciro begged.

Alessa mimicked and began wrestling loose.

"No…" Demario whimpered as he attempted to crawl towards her. He was knocked down by Mohsen as he drove his elbow into his back with the driving force of a frenzied bull. He coughed on the ground and managed to slightly pull himself forward.

Marlena gasped restlessly with her head back and a dagger pressing into her neck. "Dammit Demario, tell him now," she snapped.

Mohsen looked back down at the desperate man and asked again, "Where is it, tell me."

"No…"

"Oh my God," Alessa cried, "father…" Both Ciro and Alessa were beginning to worry. Surely their father would tell this evil man the location in order to save their mother's life. But when only the word 'no' continued to be repeated by the man, Mohsen nodded towards Raimi.

It was like a trigger, in a split second the cold steel slid across Marlena's throat, ending her life. Alessa watched in utter disbelief as her beloved mother fell to the ground. A cry so horrible, so pained, was trapped within her throat as she stared with a sadness so overwhelming, it had her trembling to her knees.

Ciro's wailing scream sounded to the heavens as he fought his way free and ran towards his fallen mother. Demario was unable to speak as his hand ran through his wife's fair hair.

"Marlena," he whispered through his sadness.

Altaïr was able to speculate the tail end, just before he made a grim attempt to distract them all. His hand fell on the hilt of a knife that was fastened in his belt, and with lithe precise movements he sent the throwing knife soaring through the air with a wisp and into the back of one man's neck.

Mohsen cringed and looked up to see the Altaïr charging towards them with his hand on his sword. "Quick!" Mohsen shouted and moved away, grabbing Demario.

Demario returned to his senses and yelled for his children, "Alessa, Ciro, run away!" Both of them parted and ran separate ways, leaving Mohsen bewildering and disoriented.

A few guards seemed to materialize as they emerged from a door they had slammed open. "Go after the kids!" Mohsen ordered. Most of them ran after Ciro, for he was the only one visible by now. Altaïr cursed as a guard went after him, brandishing a sword. He was forced to drive his sword through the guard after he had nicked his shoulder with a blade.

It was as if mass hysteria erupted within the palace; everyone had ran different directions, shouting, crying, screaming. The sounds reverberated off the tall walls, sending a shiver down his spine. _I'm failing…_ Altaïr was able to notice which direction one set of rogues had ran after being confronted by more guards. Everything was out of his control now, it would just have to come down to pure luck, and he had to admit, he felt it thinning.

He pursued the two rogues with swiftness. Shortly after, he collided into a guard and knocked him unconscious with a strike to the head. He found himself falling behind and was having a difficult time pin-pointing the screams of the girl.

Alessa ran as fast as her legs could currently carry her; she blocked out the pain and the fluid building up in the back of her throat. The once lively tears that had stained her cheeks, seemed to have dried up and no longer streamed.

She bolted down a familiar hallway that led her to her bedroom, once she was there, she fled into the room slamming the double doors behind her. Her hand deliriously searched the door for the lock as her breathing increased. The sound of the pursuing men had reached a thunderous level and didn't stop when it reached the door. She finally felt the bolt, but was not quick enough to turn it; the doors flung open and sent her barreling towards the ground.

"Uff!" she grunted from the impact. As she lifted her weight up, she was able to view the two rogues whose faces were veiled by the darkness of the room; only one torch had produced light and it was far off in a corner. They both laughed maliciously, giving each other a look that reflected their grim intentions.

"Look at that, Moeshe, a little lady here all by her lonesome." The man to the right smiled malevolently. The man to the left seemed to mirror his friend with that same tasteless grin. "Maybe we can fit some time in to have a little fun, what do you say?"

Alessa was crawling backwards, but her eyes were still wide with alarm. She felt her lip quivering and the tears returning.

"Ah, now you're scaring her," Moeshe addressed with empathy. His eyes fixed upon her, she could feel them creeping along her body. "We're not going to hurt you, you have my word."

Simultaneously, they took steps towards her. She held up her hand in a desperate attempt to keep them away. "S--stay the hell away," she pleaded. With her hand near her face, she was able to see just how frightened she was; the way her hand shook made her realize even more how dire her situation was.

She found herself trapped, her back was pressed up against the cold wall. It felt sticky to the touch, for her skin was perspiring.

One of them put his hand on the other's chest and pushed him back, taking a step forward. "Let me go first," he said eagerly.

"You?! Why do you get to go first?" The other implored angrily.

He spun around and glared at him with haste, as he bite his lip he spoke, "Because Moeshe, I'll be quick, you'll take too long."

"Is that--is that an insult?" Moeshe questioned intrusively.

While the two bickered, Alessa glanced towards an opening and sprung up with desperation. She was only able to make it a few feet before she felt a heavy force push her to the ground. The weight that had so recklessly knocked her over, now smashed her into the ground and kept her in place. Alessa began screaming and flailing.

"Hold still," he growled.

"Get off of me!" She clawed at his face with forlorn movements. He shouted as her nails dug into his flesh.

"Ugh! Stop that you wench!" He sat up and brought his hands down, pinning her arms to the ground. "Hold still!"

"Hurry up, you--" Moeshe's voice trailed off once he rounded on his heels to face a disturbed movement. He brought his hands up to defend himself from a full frontal attack. A sharp, elongated blade drove through his head, causing him to shriek out of immense amounts of pain. Moeshe was punched from the clutch of the hidden blade by a large fist.

The man was too preoccupied with Alessa to have giving any regard, but when he felt a strong hand grip his shoulder, fear sparked within.

Alessa felt the weight disappear as it was thrown from on top of her. She peered up to see the back of a tall man with broad shoulders cloaked in white standing before her attacker. _It's him._

Altaïr picked the man up by his collar and threw him in the dresser, where he rammed into it with his stomach. Although the air was knocked out of him, he still fumbled for a weapon. He clutched the hilt of his dagger and turned to face Altaïr with confidence. The point of the dagger was nearly inches from his tanned face.

Altaïr showed no signs of fret. "Don't even think about it," he spat, clicking the hidden blade out. He grabbed the man's head with his free hand and held his head in place by sticking the blade through his left eye. The man stumbled and wavered a little before he was thrown to the side.

All was quiet. Alessa stared from a corner in a fetal position; her hands embraced the rug underneath her. She watched as he straightened his posture and paused briefly before turning around just enough to view her. She felt profoundly awed, this man had seemed to be her personal body guard of the day; he continued to make random appearances. Perhaps, it wasn't random at all.

He took a long step forward, as if testing her ability to stay calm; she only shook from previous tragedies. Altaïr decided she would be fine, so long as he showed no signs of threat, which he could only hope he wouldn't provoke. By the time he was only a few feet away from where she sat, her breathing had increased again. She panted and suffocated slightly on the internal fluid that seemed to show no signs of dispersing.

When he held out a hand, she yelped and recoiled. "It's alright, I'm not going to hurt you." He said to her sincerely.

His voice was deep, but soft and she could pick out the note of kindness. But after what had happened to her, she didn't know if she could trust anybody, not even her own father. She stared dumbly at his hand and shook her head from side to side, allowing her hair to fall from its original state into her face.

He knelt down on one knee and looked her in the eyes. Although the room was dark, she could still sense his probing stare. He was eye level and she didn't like it one bit.

"Trust me," he said almost close to a whisper.

She released her knees and allowed her body to go dead weight. "Who are you?" she asked meekly, cocking her head to the side partly. He fell silent and his lips parted, but no signs of words seemed to take place.

Then there were voices, several voices and shuffling coming from the hall. It caused both of them to look at the double doors with panic.

"We've got to go," he announced. He grabbed her hand, making her jump and shiver from his touch. He brought her up with him and began scoping the room for an exit; his attention quickly went towards the balcony off to the left. "Where does that lead to?" he asked, leading her towards the threshold of the balcony.

"Outside," she stuttered. He peered at her as if wanting a more specific answer, she didn't hesitate. "Into the garden." He nodded, as if he had known it all along.

Altaïr braced the rail and looked over to view the scenery below. "It's not a far drop, we need to jump down there," he pulled her closer, "get on my back."

"What?"

"Get on my back," he restated with the same assertive tone.

"Uhh," she placed her hands on his shoulders. "Seriously?"

"Yes,"

She nearly shouted when he did the rest by lifting her up onto his back; "Hang on," she squeezed his shoulders tightly.

He flung himself over the rail, catching himself once he was on the other side. This time she was unable to hold back a small scream. "What are you doing??" When he didn't reply she continued to talk, "You know, there's a trellis right over there, we could have just climbed down that."

"Shh, they'll hear you."

She immediately fell silent. She had to admit, this was slightly awkward; she was hanging onto his back while he lowered themselves into the garden below. She could feel his muscles work under the thin layer of clothes. The voices were approaching and judging by the tone of them, they were not allies. He looked up, then at her from over his shoulder. In the moon light, she could make out his thick lips and the traces of stubble on his face.

"Listen," he whispered, "you're going to climb down my arm and I'm going to drop you into the garden; the drop isn't a bad one."

"What?"

"Just do it,"

With that said, he paused momentarily before releasing his left arm, allowing it to fall to his side. "Do it quick, I can't hold both of us with one arm." She immediately began scaling her way down his backside, using his arm as if it were a rope. She had to admit, she couldn't quite remember how she did it, but the one thing that did stick with her was when she accidentally kicked him in the rear on the way down, causing him to muffle something under his breath. If the night hadn't been so traumatizing, she might have snickered a bit.

Altaïr dropped her down, she landed with a 'thud', and he followed shortly after. He landed beside her, and what he did was nothing near welcoming. He placed his hand over her mouth and pulled her under the balcony and into the darkness. She strained and muffled words under his large hand.

"Quiet," he hissed.

They must have moved fast, because the voices were now above them. She couldn't determine who it had been, but there were at least two of them.

Suddenly, the shadow of someone's head appeared on the ground from the light ascending from the opening of her room. Someone was peering over the railing and into the garden. Alessa now realized why her hero had been so hasty, she felt a little relieved knowing he hadn't intended to harm her.

"Gideon, what's the matter?" came a hoarse voice.

"Thought I heard something,"

"You probably did,"

There was a moment of silence, that Alessa felt had only included her and no one else, considering the awkwardness of it all. She was nearly inches from a man's face whom she did not know, she could feel the air exiting his nostrils.

"Oh well, it matters little, we need to reunite with Mohsen," After a few other things were said, the mystery men parted. It was only a few short moments before Altaïr finally released her gently. She instantly distanced herself from him and whirled around to face him.

"Seriously, who are you?" She confronted, pointing an accusing finger.

"That doesn't matter,"

"I'm sorry, but I think it does. I keep seeing you, I've seen you--" she ended her sentence abruptly after feeling as though she was revealing to much.

"More than once, and once too many," he continued for her. "We're all wondering the same thing."

She could see him clench his jaw from behind his mouth, and she wondered what was running through is mind.

"Can't you just--"

She was interrupted by familiar screaming. Both of them moved from their positions to view the scene (he pushed her along most of the time).

It was her brother, Ciro, and he was running for his life.

"Ciro!" She shouted, sending her words into the opening like a siren. She pushed past Altaïr and ran for her brother.

"No, wait!" Altaïr hollered, reaching his arm out to grab her, but he was too late.

* * *

Yay, all done! This chapter probably could have been written a little better, but I was so anxious to finish it! Hope you liked :)


	13. In a Blink of An Eye cont

Sorry how long it took to update x.x Been on vacation to the Bahamas, etc. etc... and sorry if there's any typos, there's always at least 2 in my chapters, but eh, lol...

* * *

In the Blink of An Eye - cont…

Her breathing had returned to its harsh pace and pushed recklessly out from her opened mouth. She ran towards the familiar shouts emitting from over the landscaping of cypress trees and shrubbery, and the adrenaline that pumped through her head had muffled the voice of man who was yelling for her to bide. The anxious girl's legs had yet again led her on their own accord and right into the path of the very danger she had been fleeing from since the start of the evening.

Alessa rounded on her heels to face the sound, only to see her brother and stirring father in the grip of death and engulfed in shadows cast by the seven unknown fiends. The first man near the front caught her attention with a familiar, devilish smirk and glistening spark of evil. She swallowed hard and ran for the only thing she cared about, with her arms outstretched and her hopes set high for strong intentions.

Altaïr bounded after her and came to a abrupt stop right in the center of her path; she bumped into him with a ruthless force and rebounded backwards. She quickly caught her balance and struggled to maintain control of the situation, which still seemed out of reach as Altaïr seized her thin wrists. His grip was strong and felt unbreakable as she squirmed bitterly in his firm grasp.

"Alessa!" she heard her brother cry from over Altaïr's broad shoulders.

She glared daggers into Altaïr's soul; biting her lip, she kicked his shin. His unmoved reaction left her realizing it would take a lot more to inflict pain on such a sturdy man. "Let me go! Don't you see my brother needs me!" she pleaded helplessly. The tears in her eyes clouded her vision and only added on to her emotional turmoil.

He drew her in closer, allowing her to hear his hissing whisper, "You must not get near them, you're the one they need; getting close to them would be a death wish." She continued to fidget angrily in his hold. "Enough," his voice felt like it shook as it rumbled from within his chest, which her head was inches from.

Alessa could sense the severity in his words and soon found herself giving into the command. She brought her hands near her face, bringing his large hands with hers, and peered up with a quivering lip. "Please… do something." Her plea came out with a whimpering sadness that left the stern man to fall victim to sympathy.

"I am, but you must also follow my words, they intent to aid you," he said quietly with a nod. He turned 180 degrees, keeping one of her wrists within his grasp, and confronted the faces of the bandits that watched impatiently.

"Well," Mohsen began while bringing his fists to his hips. "The foolish assassin brought us the daughter," he snickered as he ran his tongue over his teeth and glared from under his dark brow. Alessa seemed to freeze up once she heard that crude word once again, surely her hero was not an assassin as so her attackers claim he was. But as she peered up at the back of his hooded head, she knew he remained adamant; his emotions had not seemed to show diversity in any way.

When Altaïr returned the leer, his mouth and the tip of his nose lit up from the dim light of the growing moon. Something sparked from within the man, Alessa could feel his aura and energy engulfing the empty space surrounding him. He returned no response to Mohsen's stubborn remark, only leaving him intolerant of the growing tension between him and the Man in White.

Mohsen clenched his jaw tightly and snatched a small knife from the throng around his waist; with lithe movements and a glistening stream of silver, the knife wisped through the air. It soared towards Altaïr with unforgiving swiftness and, just as quickly as it was thrown, Altaïr deflected the knife over his head with the gauntlet strapped to his left arm. Everyone's eyes stayed locked onto the glow of the blade as it sparked off the shining metal on his arm and into a nearby wall where it clinked loudly. Alessa was growing more respect and fascination with the man with every passing minute he remained in her presence.

Mohsen seemed impressed and cackled while straightening his posture and heaving his arms over his chest. "Seems you're better than I had assumed," he closed his eyes and held out his arms with his palms facing the darkening night sky. "In that case, we need to settle this fairly, after all, you want me dead and I want you gone and out of my way." His eyes slid open and his mouth fell flat as his nostrils flared. "Well here I am…come fight me."

Altaïr immediately released Alessa and took a step forward causing Mohsen to flinch slightly; he quickly halted his pace and angled his head around to allow Alessa to view his profile. "Don't move an inch," she nodded agreeably. After her reassuring gesture, he braced the hilt of his sword at his side and wielded it professionally. He began to stride confidently in the direction of his challenger; his many layers of white clothing flowed behind him as if an imaginary breeze and blown through them. The small figments of terror had returned in Mohsen's eyes while Altaïr approached; he would feed off these fears.

Once Altaïr was in reaching distance, Mohsen lunged forward, brandishing an elongated, shimmering blade, swiping it downward in hopes of inflicting damage. The sword was tauntingly parried to the side by Altaïr's equally as dangerous sword; he followed through by delivering a punch into Mohsen's stomach. The wind was knocked clean out from his core as he staggered for balance; Altaïr waited patiently for him to recover as if teasing him with frightening indifference. Mohsen stared daggers into Altaïr's veiled face and soon gave a distasteful grin.

Alessa watched helplessly from her same, stationary position as the conflict continued to unravel between the two men. Mohsen knew Altaïr was merely toying with him; the way he refused to make any up-front attacks and remain defensive, and although Mohsen knew what kind of route Altaïr had taken, he still became intolerant and aggressive.

"Do something, you wretched heathen!" Mohsen demanded, bearing his teeth and fury. Altaïr remained in his spot, with his knees bent and his sword held out before him. Mohsen glanced at his comrades that watched with anticipation and soon realized that they were rather unimpressed with his behavior and declining pride. This sparked a fire within, that fed his ruthlessness with brutal hostility. "Stay where you are!" Mohsen flung himself forward in Altaïr's direction and began thrashing his sword with blinded rage. The attacks were strong, and with each contact of the two swords, sparks would materialize and Altaïr would be pushed back. Each time the swords met, Alessa would flinch and grow even more anxious.

Mohsen growled and brought the weapon down with all the might he had within his raging body and was met with an entwinement between the blades. Altaïr brought himself forward, nearly inches from Mohsen's face and glared into his soul. Each sword was nearly touching the other's face as both of their strength held the bondage of their arms and weapons together.

"What now Mohsen? You're death is undeniable." Altaïr stated matter-of-factly. Sweat was beginning to show on his brow and his nostrils flared. Mohsen stared resentfully into Altaïr's face while he bore his grinding teeth. He soon chuckled and drew himself even closer, to where his cheek nearly touched Altaïr's, and brought his mouth to his ear.

"We'll see about that," Mohsen remarked with a hiss and pulled himself back to view the assassin's face once again. Feeling comfortable with the amount of spit already built up in his mouth, he spat into Altaïr's face.

Altaïr brought all of his weight forward and broke the entanglement, sending Mohsen to the ground to be welcomed by a cloud of dust. The hidden blade ejected out from underneath his left arm after the sword was sheathed; he balled up his fist, tightening the grip around the blade. Mohsen was able to notice what Altaïr's next move was and glanced at Alessa from his pained position on the ground. A smile grew across his face once an idea had occurred to him.

Altaïr could almost feel his heart stop as he brought the blade up behind his head and moved it downward with lightning fast speeds, but he was unable to complete the strike once he felt a blistering pain shoot through his left shoulder. The amount of pain was able to escape his mouth as he stumbled backwards, maintaining his balance. He peered over at his know injured shoulder to reveal the hilt of a dagger protruding from the muscle and the white cloth that surrounded it. Alessa gasped and placed her thin hands over her mouth. Altaïr looked back at the snickering Mohsen with a look that could kill; he straightened his posture and lunged towards the disorientated Mohsen, bringing the hidden blade back out.

"Nice try, assassin," Mohsen hissed.

Suddenly, a small, grey ball was thrown forward by Mohsen and smoke erupted into the air, shrouding everyone in grey. Altaïr stepped backwards, coughing and covered his mouth with the bend in his arm. He looked back at the dagger and removed it while biting back the pain and let it drop to the ground, dripping his own blood. His eyes narrowed as he searched for Mohsen and any of his men.

"Grab the girl!" Someone had shouted.

Altaïr quickly turned on his heels and faced the choking Alessa whose face was concealed by her slender arms. She screamed as he seized her arm and pulled her along the garden's path. His eyes continued to scan the area for anyone familiar, but was only able to view the city guards that had flooded into the scene.

"Let me go!" Alessa cried as she flailed about. She was finally able to open her eyes and was rushed with a sense of relief after realizing it was Altaïr who had taken her by the arm. As the smoke began to spread and thin, Mohsen saw the two running out the garden and into the city streets.

"That persistent bastard is getting away with the daughter," Mohsen growled towards Gideon.

"We'll need to follow," Gideon replied after knocking back a guard.

* * *

"W-wait, where are you taking me?" Alessa inquired with a shaky voice. "What about my brother? And my father??"

Altaïr refused to give her an answer and only continued to drag her along. She would attempt to plant her feet in hopes of maybe keeping him from going any further until he answered her question, but failed for he was too strong, so instead, she dug her nails into his bicep.

She was rewarded with a small, deep scream and a sharp pain to the back of her neck as he pinched the nerves. "Ouch! What's your problem??"

"Damn it, girl, you need to shut up and stay with me. Does it look like I can answer your questions at this moment?" He questioned harshly while stopping his pace in an alleyway to turn and face her with probing brown eyes.

"I--" she stuttered and found herself at a loss of words as he stared her down. Her eyes averted from his face and towards his fresh wound that bled uncontrollably, corrupting the perfect white linen that had once protected it. His chest heaved up and down as the air escaping his nose sounded correspondingly with his broad chest.

When she gave no reply, he returned to pulling her along, but at least this time she allowed him to carry her weight. He stopped abruptly at the end of the alleyway and pushed his back up against the wall, forcing her to do the same. The night had finally taken over and had spilled dark, cool colors across the Arabian city, leaving everything more frightening than it was. She suddenly realized how much danger she was in, and clenched his long arm tightly, allowing her head to sink into the cloth. He glanced at her before peering out from the alleyway to scope the area to confirm their safety.

Alessa could feel the tears returning as she heard screams in the distance, along with the bellowing bell alarm that continued to echo over the towering buildings. She sobbed quietly into his arm, hoping the cry would be muffled just enough to deny him the knowledge of her growing hopelessness. He slowly pulled his head back into the narrow pathway to stare at her.

"Alessa," he calmly addressed. Although she could not see his face, she knew his intentions contained sympathy. "You must not fret just yet, not until you're safe."

She agreed with him and lifted her head up and away from his aura; she instantly was hit with a feeling of embarrassment once she noticed how emotional she had been towards a complete stranger. She had to admit, she almost had forgotten she had little idea who this man was and why his presence here had been so ground-breaking. They once again moved onward and closer to the city entrance; she bit her lip as they flowed farther away from her home and closer to an exit. Was he kidnapping her? Or was he merely trying to get her to safety?

He halted suddenly, causing her to bump into his back. "Sorry," she said meekly. Alessa watched him closely as he peered up at a rectangular shaped building to their right. He seemed to be far too deep in thought to give any heed to the scenery around him. She followed his gaze to see an arch in the building that opened up into an enclosed, unsheltered room, that ended with a wooden ladder propped up against the back wall. He took a hesitant step forward as if not knowing to run for the ladder or not, she pondered the small building's importance.

Before he could decide, the sky ignited into bright colors of orange, as distant flames erupted over the rooftops. The sound of the explosion had shook their hearts and sent Alessa leaping back closer to Altaïr.

"No, we need to leave. There's no time," he stated deeply, with a small trace of worry in the words. That was the first time she had picked up on a new emotion within the man.

He began to run, forcing her to run with him for his grip gave no signs of residing. "What's going on, what was that?" she asked quickly, turning her head around to face the direction of the explosion, allowing her hair to fall into her face.

"It has to be them, they're distracting the city guard,"

"But," before she could say anymore, more people ran past them towards salvation while guards ran the opposite direction towards the fire, giving no heed to Altaïr and the princess.

They continued the same pace until they reached the front gate, that had somehow remained open, even though the city was in danger. The only thing blocking their path, were three guards that stood uneasily.

"No, not there," Alessa whispered hysterically.

"Yes, we need too,"

"And why?"

Altaïr paused and stared intently. "We need to get through, stay here and don't make a sound." He released her and crept closer to the guards' backsides.

For some reason, she listened to him, even though she probably could have ran away or blew his cover. She just was going with the first instinct and it was telling her to remain calm and follow orders.

Before she knew it, two guards went down after taking hits to the back from a weapon she could not find. The last guard shouted and rounded on his heels, so Altaïr snatched the short sword from his back and slashed it across the guard's neck. Alessa gasped and began taking small steps backwards.

"Come on," he ordered while motioning.

"There!" came a holler from a distance. They both looked towards to find Mohsen and his rogues' staring them down. Alessa searched for her brother, and quickly spotted him hanging unconsciously in one of their arms, along with her father.

"Ciro!" Alessa cried out.

"Alessa, come now!" Altaïr shouted up over them, causing her to give-in to the tension and sprint towards her only form of safety. She ran to his side, where he took her by the hand and led her out of the city.

"Damn it, there they go again! After them, now!" Mohsen ordered and immediately received a response when four of his men ran for them. Guards shouted and brandished their steel swords in the night air as they sprinted towards the bandits. The two parties clashed momentarily before the rogues had once again came out victorious.

Altaïr ran for the stable, where he busted open one of the stale doors and seized a white steed's reigns. "What are we doing?" Alessa inquired again, only this time, he gave her a more understandable answer.

"We need to flee, we have guards and bandits after us," he replied while peering up at his noble horse, "forgive me."

"Huh?"

He suddenly wrapped his right arm around her waist and lifted her up onto the horse's back, once there, she frantically began screaming. "Oh no, I'm going nowhere, you can't make me--"

"We'll see,"

Before she knew it, he had quickly taken a seat in the saddle right behind her, the sudden movement had her cringing.

"There!" screamed Mohsen as he pointed a crooked finger. Like a bunch of ravenous wolves, four of them bounded their way towards their prey.

Altaïr gave an officious shout and clicked the horse's sides with his boots, "Fawzi, go!" The horse launched into a burst of speed that sent Alessa backwards into Altaïr's chest and emitted a gleeful but surprised squeal from her.

The owner of the stable finally came from his small house near the stales after acknowledging the boisterous noise from outside his door. He stomped towards the four men stealing the few remaining horses and began yelling with a rasp, "Hey, you can't do that! Stop you fools!" If perhaps he remained quiet and out of their way he would not have been met with death. As they rode by, the male with the scar running through his eye, drove the tip of a short sword through the man's chest, leaving him to fall from his own dead weight. By the time they had taken to the rode, Altaïr and Alessa were just barely in sight.

Mohsen stood in place and glared after them with an inner fire burning within them. "Naiya, Gideon," the two looked at the back of his head while he paused to ponder the next sentence. "It's just us three now, along with the father and son, we must go to our camp and grab the remaining horses," he suddenly rounded on his heels to face them, "let nothing happen to those two, you hear?"

They both nodded and then looked at the other; Naiya felt a strong presence of guilt. In her arms was a young man, just finally starting to experience life, and they had come along and taken it from him, just like Mohsen did with her life. Her eyes soon fell upon the unconscious boy she held up and tears began to form and threatened to fall. She held them back though, with all the numbing strength she had in her.

* * *

His vision was blurring and his head felt unnaturally light; he was beginning to lose the feeling in his arms and legs. His drooping eyes shifted towards his wounded shoulder and narrowed lazily. _It's this wound, the dagger was poisoned._

"Let me down! I refuse to be taken any further!" Alessa screamed while squirming about as usual. She had begun to notice his weight was giving in and was now pressing into her back even more, she felt abnormally uneasy with him this close, but the feeling of dread would not remain dormant. "Are you even listening?"

The horse's quickened gallop began to slow to trot as he led the horse away from the trail and farther down a decline of landscape. His breathing was unnaturally harsh and uneven, she found herself falling silent to chime in on his internal struggle. As the horse continued to trot down the hill and his weight remained in the same dependent stage, she became impatient and nervous.

"Why are we going off the trail?"

She received no answer.

"Hello?"

The horse came to gradually stop at the bottom of the hill and blew a stream a air through its widening nostrils. Alessa turned in the saddle to face the Man in White only in time to witness him slide off the side of the saddle and into the dirt. His right side had cushioned his heavy fall, but the sound he had emitted from the impact still created a loud 'thud'.

"Are you alright??" Alessa questioned with panic. His body showed no signs of life or even movement, not even his garb blew with the chilly night breeze. Alessa pushed herself from the saddle and landed clumsily, she had not noticed how towering the horse was when Altaïr had so carelessly flung her on top; then she turned to kneel by her hero's side to inspect his health.

"Are you stirring?" she asked quietly, "please, say something." When not even his once heavy breathing gave a reassuring sign, she began to cry again. "No, you can't leave me as well… please wake up." She curled into a fetal position and shivered from the teasing breeze as it picked up its current. Using her hand, she brought it to his hood and pulled it back slightly to view his face. It was rather distressed and furrowed, he appeared to be in pain. His dark eyebrows, that she could barely make out with the glowing moonlight, were laying close to his eyes and his mouth lay open, allowing her to see the tips of his teeth. Although he looked unpleasant, the young man was still very handsome. She instantly had a better feeling for him, seeing more of his face and knowing he was younger than she had assumed.

Suddenly, over the hill, she heard heavy galloping and tramping of several horses' hooves in the dirt. She held her breath as they passed by as quickly as they had came. Alessa knew it was the men from before and she was glad knowing they had not noticed their mediocre hiding, but something had her shoot up from her meek position on the ground, and that something was the bothersome thought of her brother and father still in possession of those evil men. That thought alone was enough to have her want to run up the hill and shout after them…perhaps she would; hope had seemed to have left her and the only thing that was shedding hope onto her was the young man who had kept her away from harm, and now, that young man was lying on the lonely ground, stuck in an unmovable slumber.


	14. Death is Only the Beginning

Alright, thanks once again for the reviews and the patience :)

Idiotic-Ice: Thanks for the comment; those simple things are really appreciated!

Gaignun Girl: Yes, Bahamas was a blast!:D Definitely a very beautiful place, that's for sure. Oh, and thanks for the constant reviews

Sera22: Hey, I'm glad you're enjoying it! Thanks for the review as well :)

Ila: You're the best reviewer, thanks so much for the support!

* * *

Death is Only the Beginning

His sudden hoarse gasp for air had sent her jumping back with her hand over her heart. He rolled over onto his back, eyes and jaw clenching, as he coughed and struggled for control over his fatigued body. Alessa was hit with a gust of relief once she had witnessed life in the young man once again. She was blissful to know she would not be left alone.

"Oh thank the heavens, you're alive!" she cried out, kneeling by his side with one quick motion. She could see his eyes peel open when the moonlight returned life into the golden brown pools. " I thought--I thought you were going to die." He viewed her from his uncomfortable position on the ground, as his muscles strained and tightened from underneath the thin layers of clothing. The feeling in his limbs were returning slowly and showed signs of recovery. She found herself wrapped tightly into a fetal position by his side, while he regained his senses.

He suddenly groaned with discontent. "Ugh, that damn coward got away, didn't he?" he inquired while bringing his arms to his chest. She lifted her head up, letting her breath materialize in the night air, and nodded. He huffed and rolled to his side to stare at the ground quietly. Alessa tensed as a strange silence threatened to fall upon them.

She began to realize just how worried she had been for almost a complete stranger and she felt the need to question his health. "Are you alright?" her voice was quiet and empathic. His eyes moved from the dirt near his face and attempted to focus onto the owner of the voice even though his back was facing her. He remained silent to allow himself to confirm his own recovery with confidence before replying. He felt his breathing beginning ease to a normal, peaceful pace, along with his once heaving chest.

"I suppose; better than before,"

"That's good," she said almost to herself than to him. He shifted on the ground and opened and closed his palms. "What happened?"

It was as if he had been struck with a fatal blow, for he froze entirely, even his breathing had stopped. He rolled over quickly, to face her, with little warning and stared into her eyes. Although, it was growing darker, she could still feel his eyes reading into her soul. _What a unique man; he's so…fascinating, _she pondered. He suddenly shrugged, it appeared rather boyish and revealed some hidden colors.

"What do you mean?" he asked, allowing a small trace of bewilderment to run through his words. His right eyebrow arched and his white teeth showed behind an opened mouth; the whites of his eyes and teeth were amplified by his dark skin and the light of the night.

"Why did you collapse?"

"Oh," his eyes fell back onto the ground while he paused briefly. "Poison, Mohsen had a poisoned dagger that he stabbed me with."

"Mohsen?"

"The man who I fought, and the man after your family," he stated matter-of-factly. The continuing conversation began to allow reality to return and forced his once boyish appearance into oblivion. She was literally watching his original, serious self mask his other personalities; that original self was making her infatuation return.

"That's his name?"

"Yes," he confirmed while he lifted himself up, dusting his hands off. He was beginning to show signs of standing, but she was colored surprised when he remained stationary. He stared at his hands momentarily before letting them fall into his lap, then he turned his head to give her full attention. She was impressed with his strength, both mentally and physically.

"Wait" she unwrapped her arms from her legs to supported her weight as her eyes widened. "If it was poison, how come it didn't kill you?"

He stared blankly for only a short moment, before a wide, handsome smile grew across his face; the grin actually caught her off guard. "Not all poisons kill, some will cripple, like the ones I had received. What the crippling poisons will do, is usually cause the victim's limbs to tighten and lose feeling, and it soon spreads throughout your body, causing unconsciousness if enough poison is present."

She blinked slowly, allowing his words to be absorbed. "Oh, so that's what happened to you, so you're not going to die?"

His smile had fallen into just small curves at the corners of his mouth as he looked in away off into the distance. "No, I'm not going to die. It was probably just a combination of rhododendron leaves or oleander," he finally brought himself onto his feet, gripping his leather gauntlet to confirm its security. "Nothing to fret."

She followed his lead and stood up as well; his white steed neighed gleefully after witnessing his master return to normal. Altaïr looked over at Fawzi while his readjusting his belt and equipment.

"I guess, we better get going; I got a rogue to catch," he stated flatly as he walked gracefully over to his horse's side.

"But--"

He paused to turn and face her; his eyes showing a hint of impatience while she stood unmoving.

"Come here,"

"But, where are we going?"

"After them, where else?"

"What?? You're taking me with you? I don't think you can do that, you have to take me back to Nazareth, I--"

"And what, so you can get captured and killed? I'm sorry, but you're staying with me until I know for certain that you'll be safe." He replied deeply, leaving her dumb-stricken by his words. Her stare fell onto many different objects while she pondered ; she had not attended to be practically kidnapped. She could only assume his intentions were, not only righteous, but better for her situation.

"Come on Alessa, the night can wait, but your family cannot," he held out his arm, gesturing for her to get into the saddle. When she remained in a lifeless state, he snatched her by wrapping a strong arm around her waist and flung her on top.

"Hey!"

"Hey what?" he inquired while taking a close seat behind her.

"You keep doing that… a warning would have been nice," her voice was somewhat playful, but mostly irritated.

"My mistake," with that, Alessa fell silent and began listening to Fawzi's hooves and Altaïr's commands. The horse trotted leisurely up the hill they had ridden down moments before, snorting to itself with concentrated patience; the graceful stallion mirrored his mysterious master.

Once they returned to the dirt path, Altaïr put everything into full gear, and roughly kicked the horse's sides, causing Fawzi to spring into action. They moved forward suddenly, catching Alessa off-guard once again, launching her into his chest. Her blonde curls blew back loosely as the crimson ribbon, that had kept her hair up flew away over Altaïr's head.

"Oh no," she said out loud, turning in the saddle to view the whirling ribbon. She watched it dance in the breeze until it was snatched by the branch of an aging tree before she sighed and faced forward. Altaïr paid no heed to the ribbon and her sadness over the loss, but he began to miss the red strip of cloth when her long hair started to whip against his face. Alessa stared distantly, unaware of her curls and the affect they were having on the man behind her.

The hair smelled of lavender and was soft to the touch, but his eyes and mouth were not content. He moved his head over her left shoulder and pushed her hair off his right, to allow it to blow behind him. Her eyes moved from the darkened scenery towards his profile inches from her cheek.

"What's wrong?" she asked instantly, pulling away.

"Your hair," he replied with his eyes focused on the trail.

"Oh, I'm sorry--" "No, it's alright, just--" he trailed off to heave a sigh, "you know, you've been apologizing this whole time." His random change of subject had her eyes widening as she gawked vacantly. He glanced at her from the corner of his eye and soon returned it to the landscape that was passing by.

She immediately realized what he had referred too, "Oh, I'm sorry, I--" she paused just in time to view the corners of his mouth curving. "I did it again."

"You sure did," he added in before she exhaled deeply. "You shouldn't be apologetic, Alessa, it is I who has done wrong."

"You? But you've done nothing,"

"Oh, but I have, I've failed greatly. My mistake has already cost your mother her life and your family's division."

Alessa fell silent as her shoulders slumped, he immediately noticed her change of character. "I don't think I understand," she stated softly.

"Your family's life was in my hands," his words were slow and almost painful like the a sting of a bee.

Her eyes trailed up towards the crescent moon and remained locked onto its luminescent hue. "…Who are you?"

The noise seemed to fall dead as his reply prolonged into an endless slumber. She could feel his hot breath on her neck, a feeling she wanted to go away, but a feeling she enjoyed.

"I was assigned to end Mohsen's life, in order to prevent the endangerment of you and your family. Our paths should have never have crossed, but the change of course has left me deciding under borrowed time." Altaïr announced finally, she could feel the sincerity, that was supposed to remain hidden.

"I think I can make sense of it… at least some of it, not all of it," she informed as flatly as she could. The stillness returned as they both entered their own worlds within their minds. Her serenity was broken when she was hit with a realization of something she had not been informed with. " You have failed to mention you name." Her blue eyes found their way to his face, that was gradually beginning to fade due to the night that had fallen over them. He brought his left hand up to scratch away an itch on his elongated nose while he thought carefully.

When he only gave her silence, she refused to wait any longer. "Alright, you don't have to tell me; I suppose that's something else that will remain a mystery--"

"Altaïr,"

"Huh?"

"My name is Altaïr," he answered clearly, pulling himself back to straighten his posture.

She turned to face him, feeling a sense of respect as she gazed upon his intuition. "That's a good name," she smiled softly.

He nodded in reply.

A short moment passed before she broke the night's silence with her curious voice. "Altair,"

"Yes?"

"May I ask where we are going?"

He made eye contact with her as his eyes lit up. "A small village known as Capernaum. We need shelter for the night and I need provisions."

"Oh, is that's all that is there?"

"Well," he paused briefly to shift in his position, "there's an old 'friend' that resides there, and I'm hoping he can give us a helping--"

Something sparked in his eyes, a hint of fear and desperation glistened from within his brown pools; he suddenly kicked Fawzi's flanks, causing the horse to speed up. She reached for the closest thing she could seize to hold her balance, which she found herself bracing both of his arms with each of her hands.

"I thought you said you were going to warn me--"

"I saw something,"

She fell deathly silent and slouched over apprehensively. "What--"

Something caught her attention as it sparkled and wisped through the air, reflecting the moon's beams; the shimmering object soared towards them. In a split second, Altaïr's grip tightened around the reigns, she could feel his muscles tensing while he attempted to veer to a deadly stop, but his attempts were greatly denied.

In a blink of an eye, something had penetrated Fawzi's side, causing the noble steed to cry out painfully and topple forward, sending the two people mounted on top to be thrown to the ground. Alessa screamed while the only objects she could make out before her harsh landing blurred into a fuzzy memory. The horse rolled over to its side, nearly crushing the unaware Alessa who had just plummeted into the dirt moments before. Altaïr's landing wasn't nearly as shrill as the girl's but he had to work to reduce the pain of the tragic fall; he had rolled away from his horse's line of impact and was now lying on his stomach.

He peered up, shortly after the dust parted, to view how catastrophic the accident had been. A short distance away, was his frantic horse and an unmoving girl. "Alessa," he bellowed with a raspy, choked up voice. He coughed roughly as the dirt still present entered his throat. Fawzi stood clumsily trying to find his feet for support, and soon darted over a incline several yards away. "Fawzi!" Altaïr shouted after his terrified horse while standing up as quickly as his bruised body would allow him. "Fawzi!" The horse was now out of sight. He cursed loudly, "Damn it." His attention fell onto the girl who was starting to stir; he began to panic once he could make out unwanted movement coming down a darkened hill. He staggered towards her, continuing to shout her name with all he voice he had in him. "Alessa, wake up!"

Her eyes fluttered open in a weary manner as she lifted her head to find the owner of the voice. Her eyes found Altaïr limping towards her, his staggering motion was beginning to fade the more he put weight on his injured knee. She felt rather confused and had forgotten about her situation after blacking out momentarily. "Altaïr?"

"Alessa, move now, they're coming," he finally reached her, snatching her by the arm, forcing her to lift herself up.

"Wha-- who's coming?" she inquired with a slur. Her hair blocked her vision and her wounds, but when Altaïr had grabbed her by the arm and applied pressure, she emitted a scream that could wake the heavens.

"What, what did I do?" Altaïr peered down, showing no signs of stopping his frantic feet.

"My arm!" Correspondingly, they both looked directly towards the arm he had grabbed, to see a small stick protruding from her flesh. Another horrified scream corrupted the strange night silence.

"Alessa, I'm so sorry," his words were full of anguish. He picked her up by lifting her with his large hands on her under arms. She cried agonizingly as the once dormant ache began to flourish. "It's alright, I'm going to help," he confirmed with signs of true emotions that he had once hidden.

"Take it out! Take it out!" Her last words became smothered with tears as it prolonged into a drastic cry.

A strange chorus a laughter came from in front of them near the bottom of the hill Altaïr had noticed. Altaïr drug her back with him, hoping to view the full threat, which as a short moment passed, had been the four rogues that had pursued them from before.

"Glad to see you two, we thought we had maybe lost you after the assassin had made such a dramatic attempt to flee," one of their attackers said with a wide smile as they approached in a circling manner. Their stance was that of a ravenous wolf pack ready to attack their prey. "And when I spotted that horse, I knew that we had passed you; seems like things are looking up for us!" They all cackled, all except for the man with the scar through his eyes.

Altaïr's eyes darted from each man, as he breathed heavily, keeping his arms around the wounded, sobbing girl. Their snorts died down while the man who had spoken before examined Altaïr and Alessa's weakened stature.

"Here, I have a good idea assassin," the man announced, lifting his chin. "Your life in exchange for the girl, after all, that's all we want, we could give a damn about you."

"Take that offer and shove it," Altaïr hissed, bringing his right arm down to his sword. Alessa, although in misery, was rushed with surprise and a sense of caring for the man who was risking his own life for hers.

"Really? Is that what you want? You sure you don't want to change that answer?"

"He's stubborn, Jihan, let's just kill him; Mohsen would want him dead anyways,"

"Oh, shut it, I think I would know that," Jihan turned his head and snapped in reply. Jihan turned his head back to view Altaïr, "I'm sure we can have some fun, right Raimi? After all, he did kill your brother…"

"He's already dead in my eyes," Raimi fumed, glaring all of his anger into Altaïr, who had seemed to regain his energy and staid mannerism. Instantly, the four rogues stared at Altair thoughtfully, each one bearing a different expression.

Suddenly, Altaïr brought up his left hand and motioned for them to come, "Try me."

"With pleasure," Raimi hissed, sprinting forward, wielding a curved dagger.

Altaïr moved Alessa behind him, in order to prevent her to accidentally be brought into the fighting, and met Raimi head on. Sparks shot from the two blades, as Raimi desperately swung his dagger in hopes of drawing blood from his brother's killer. His dagger was effortlessly parried to the side, where he was met with a strong fist to the cheek. He stumbled backwards, falling to the ground where his back met the ground with a heavy thud.

Once Raimi had been knocked to the side, the three others moved in while Altaïr's defenses were down. Jihan brought his short sword down, where it grazed Altaïr's left shoulder, leaving him to bleed. Altaïr rounded on his heels to return an attack, but was hit with a punch into his side. Alessa watched terrified while she cried from her helpless position. One of the rogues noticed her seclusion, and ran away from the fighting scene towards her.

Altaïr spotted the man moving for Alessa and shouted, "Alessa, look out!"

She looked up to meet the eyes of the man. He grabbed her by the wrist and began laughing while she kicked and struggled. "That's right, fight for your life."

Altaïr attempted to move from the three men to aid her, but was only pushed back. Jihan grabbed him by the belt and flung him backwards, where he rolled to cushion his fall. Altaïr immediately stood up to face, Jihan, Raimi, and the man with the scar, each one was prepared for his next attack.

"Look, he's getting tired," Jihan chuckled. He lunged forward with a blood-thirsty sword, and drove it down towards Altaïr's chest. With a swift, evasion to Jihan's left side, Altaïr was able to bring the back of his sword up into Jihan's arm; once the two made contact, Altaïr's sword broke Jihan arm at the bend, leaving him screaming with surprise. Using his momentum he had built up, Altaïr spun around behind Jihan, bringing his sword up over his head and slashed it through the stunned Jihan. The blade ripped through his center, cutting his torso from his lower half. The attack left the other two bewildered and frightened. Raimi fidgeted recklessly while the dead Jihan lay in a growing pool of blood.

"How--how did you--" Raimi stuttered, but was cut off by an attack by Altaïr. He deflected the attacks, but was growing tired. The man with the scar, came to his rescue by sticking a knife, he had snatched from his belt, into Altaïr's back. He emitted a scream as the cold metal ripped into his once unscathed flesh. Raimi used the distraction to his advantage and sliced his dagger across Altaïr's chest, leaving him to fall on his own. Alessa, began to cry even more once she witness Altaïr fall heavily to the ground.

"No, Altaïr!" She hollered while the man wrapped his arms around hers, locking her in a vice grip. "You devilish bastard, leave me alone!" Alessa pleaded. She suddenly broke free and was able to bring her hands up to his face to scratch his eyes. As her nails dug into his skin, he screamed painfully. He reacted quickly by slapping her across the face, causing her to fall to the ground.

Altaïr lay momentarily before getting back up with a blurring vision. "We got him, he's giving in," the man with the scar addressed to Raimi with a hoarse voice.

"I want to finish him," Raimi proclaimed with a vengeful smirk. As he shot towards the wavering Altaïr, he felt a deathly stillness wash over him as a stinging pain shot through his core. His mouth dropped open as he slid forward; a sound of cutting flesh emitting as he slowly moved along. He gasped for air with widened eyes, unable to blink.

Altaïr panted while staring into his eyes with no signs of remorse. "You better hope your past deeds will be forgiven," Altaïr exclaimed deeply, ripping the sword from Raimi's stomach. The dying man stumbled forward, threatening to fall into Altaïr.

Before he fell face-first he was able to manage a distaste reply, "Yes, you better hope as well." Then he planted into the ground before Altaïr's feet.

The man with the scar and Altaïr's eyes met, they both stared resentfully at the other. "Come on, kill me," he said to Altaïr with gritting teeth. Altaïr had a unique sense of rage built up and felt no pity when lunging forward to bring a heavy foot down to shatter his right leg. The man with the scar fell limp into the ground once his leg had been broken from beneath him; the magnitude of the pain had him screaming in agony and clutching his leg.

Before Altaïr was about to collapse from yet another dose of crippling poison, he managed to snag a knife from his back throng and sent it soaring into Alessa's attacker's back. The man bit back pain as he toppled into the ground and soon fell silent. Alessa exhaled deeply with relief as the man lay quietly; she peered up just in time to see Altaïr fall to his knees.

"Altaïr!" she shouted, ignoring the pain in her arm, she ran for him. As he fell to his stomach she pleaded desperately, "No, don't die! Please!"

He rolled over to his back, bearing a wide smile, that left her perplexed, "I'm fine, just took another hit from a poisoned dagger." He announced while laying stiff, all except for his heaving chest that moved up and down.

"Are you going to pass out?"

He thought over this carefully to confirm for himself before replying, "I honestly don't know… we'll know when it hits me." His eyes fell upon the man with the scar who still lay alive with his grip around his leg. "Help me up, I'm not finished with him," Altaïr ordered while pointing a deadly finger. Alessa followed his finger to where the man lay in pain. She quickly nodded and took one of his arms over her shoulders. She could only guess how strong he really was just by the feel of his arms and shoulders. Using her as extra support, he was able to stand and take a step towards the throbbing man, just enough to hover above him with a deathly presence.

"You," Altaïr began, panting harshly, "are one sad man. I'm sorry, but you deserve the same fate as your friends." Alessa could sense the rage within him and she knew he probably was seeing with tunnel vision as he brought his stained sword out.

"Altaïr…" Alessa said quietly while Altaïr lifted the sword up, allowing its point to face down towards the depressed man.

"I'd wait for that if I were you," the man calmly said with dark, vacant eyes.

"Really? So you just want to lay there? Fine by me," Altaïr hissed.

"Don't you want to know the main location of our new settlement?"

The question had both Alessa and Altaïr interested. "What?" Altaïr inquired with furrowed eyebrows.

"You show promise, think you can promise to avenge my family by killing that fiend that goes by the name Mohsen?"

"Speak sense,"

The man chuckled softly, bringing his head back allowing it to rest on the ground. "Mohsen had killed my family years ago, giving me only two options: for him to take my life or for me to join him."

They both stared, Alessa clenching her injured arm while Altaïr brought his sword by his side, "Go on."

"I chose to join him, since after my family's death I no longer had faith; Allah had taken my family from me, I was scared, I feared death," he smiled again while closing his eyes. "But oh did I sure have quite the hate for Mohsen."

"You gave up," Alessa said quietly.

"I suppose your story is believable, but I don't know if you can be trusted," Altaïr stated flatly, showing little care.

"Look at me, do I look like I have any good reason to hang onto my life? Do you honestly think I would even want to lie?" The man's anger was beginning to spark, he had flung as much as his body forward as he could. Silence fell over them, the only noise was coming from the soft breeze and the man's desperate breathing.

The man began to cry, holding his face with his shaking hands, "My family's gone, Mohsen had made my life a living hell, you must believe me."

"Fine," Altaïr crouched before the man and seized his collar, shaking him violently, "speak."

The man slid his hands down his face and stared into Altaïr's eyes. "While on our way south from Syria, we stumbled upon a small city, it was mostly a village, but we needed a place to stay permanently and the numbers of the small town were promising. So we decided to attack it, killing anyone who didn't cooperate, which was most of the village--"

"What's the name?"

The man fell quiet as a blank stare grew across his face. Finally he spoke, "Bsharri, just a little south-east of where your kind reside…"

Altaïr was speechless, he could only reply with a flat stare. He knew the man was truthful and could only lay silent. The man's eyes fell to the ground, while his hand reached for a dagger at his side; Altaïr had not noticed his movement but Alessa had.

"Altaïr, he's reaching for his weapon," Alessa announced quickly, causing Altaïr to bring his sword up to the man's neck.

The man only smiled charmingly, "Good luck." Before Altaïr could react, the man had taken his own life by stabbing his dagger through his neck. Alessa gasped and took a step back.

"So much, carnage, I-I don't think--" she turned on her heels with a hand over her mouth, hoping to hold back the vomit that had suddenly threatened to shoot out. She didn't know why just now blood had made her feel sick, perhaps it was her own injury that had made her weak to the sight. But she was hit with a relaxed feeling when Altaïr embraced his arm around her shoulders and across her collar bones.

"Alessa," he said, his voice was close to her ear. It left her surprised by the sudden movement and it launched an array of goose bumps up her limbs. "Hang in there, alright?"

"Altaïr," she replied, her eyes shifted to the corners in hopes of viewing him. His arm disappeared as he fell backwards and landed on his rear. "Are you alright?" her worry had returned.

"Come here, let's get that stick out," at the sound of his words, she grab her arm out of instinct and flinched. "I promise, it will be quick."

She nodded mostly to herself than to him and took a seat by his side. Their breath had formed in the night air, the sight of it had her realizing the drastic temperature drop. He brought her arm up to his face to fully view it through the darkness, and placed his forefinger and thumb on the end of the stick that had still stuck from her arm. She bit back the fright and tears as she watched as best as she could.

Although his hands were large and strong, they were gentle, it left Alessa a little relieved that his hands were not about to be rough. "Alright, I need to pull this out fast, now I can't promise a pain-free experience…"

"Just take it out," she demanded with the threatening feeling of her tears flooding into her eyes.

She could see him nod and lick his lips before the pain shot up her arm as he pulled lightly on the stick, testing its durability. With a quick tug, he yanked it from her arm and threw it to the side. She immediately began crying as she brought her arm into her chest and curled into a fetal position.

"It's over," he confirmed in hopes of consoling her cries. She only continued to sob and rock in place. His eyes fluttered and rolled into the back of his head while his upper torso wavered from side to side. The feeling of unconsciousness had made a rude return. He allowed his weight to fall dead.

She peered up quickly at the sound of his back making contact with the ground. "What's wrong?" she was able to manage through her panting.

"Listen closely," he began, rolling to his side to allow his back to face her, "reach into my belt, there should be a small, silver vial. You see it?"

"Yes,"

"Take it out and--and put it on your open wound,"

"What is this?" she asked while lifting it up to view the small vial.

He breathed heavily and bit his lower lip. "It's a-it contains-a formula used to disinfect. Be warned, it will-will burn." His breathing suddenly died down as he fell into a dead silence. She knew he had passed out.

Doing as he told, she popped open the vial's cap and stared absent-mindedly down into the opening. She blinked several times before taking a sniff of the mystery potion. She gagged and pulled back, the stench had been putrid. Taking a gasp of fresh air, she swallowed hard and slowly poured a small amount into her open wound. Once the liquid and her skin touched, the stinging sensation he had warned her about had instantly taken affect.

She waited impatiently for the stinging to subside, all while staring at the quiet Altaïr, hoping he would suddenly move. Although he had not moved, something else had, and it left her looking up quickly towards the stirring. She had noticed Fawzi had made a surprise return, he shifted recklessly in one position as he stared nervously at his fallen master, but Fawzi's movement was not the thing that had disturbed her. As her eyes moved along the arid landscape, she spotted the man Altaïr had thrown a knife into, the man was now sluggishly standing up; the knife had not been a perfect hit.

She tensed up as she watched him turn 180 degrees to face her; a look of death himself was plastered on his clammy face.

"You," he jeered with pure hatred, "are in for it."

She flinched as he took a heavy step forward, attempting to regain his senses after blacking out. Alessa's eyes fell upon Altaïr, who still remained unconscious; she felt helpless, but when she noticed a lone throwing knife secured on his back, she snatched it without delay. By the time she stood and faced the staggering man, he had made it several feet closer; his teeth shined in the moon light as he tilted his head back to laugh at the sight of her.

"Stay back," she demanded shakily.

"Very funny," he replied.

Once he was only in reaching distance, he extended an arm to grab her hair, but his attempts fell dead when she drove the knife into his throat. He fell immediately, causing her to bring her hands up to her mouth as her tears flooded into her eyes hysterically. The very thought of her own hand taking someone's life had left her in absolute shock. She turned on her heels, back in the direction Altaïr was lying, and thought about how bizarre the feeling had been as the blade had driven into the man's throat. The way it slid in so carelessly had her shaking in disbelief.

Sudden, there was a distinct noise that had her rounding about to view the scenery behind her. On the trail down several ways, was a small caravan being pulled by a single horse. A strong sense of fear sparked within her, the very sight of it had her standing completely frozen.

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A pretty long chapter... hoped you guys liked it, sorry, things may be a bit repetitive, I'm just not a huge fan of jumping straight into... the story? I dunno if that covers it. And yes, poor Altair suffers yet another incident with those poisoned daggers :( Poor thing


	15. Indulgent Association

Alright, so this fanfic of mine is a wee bit old, and my writing style has changed slightly...but I wanted to start on it again. So here we go :)

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Indulgent Association

The cold night breeze blew Altaïr's whitened garbs into the air, allowing it to raise and fall back down like a bizarre creature breathing through the night; his body lay flat along with his chest. The wounds across his body bled through his clothes, corrupting the pure white cloth causing it to avert into a dark crimson. Although his body ached, his face had softened and appeared peaceful while he lay perfectly still. His very image seemed to stand as a metaphor for the occurring night: mysterious, dark, and unpredictable.

Alessa remained frozen in her spot as the caravan reached the top of the incline, where she and Altaïr had stalled. Surely, her fear was being fed by the unknown, her past tragic events, and of course, Altaïr had just recently drifted off into an unavoidable slumber. She was alone, the only thing that now kept her company, was a caravan being led by an alien figure. Her first instinct was to run as far away as possible, but some invisible force had kept her standing still with wide, curious eyes. The little moonlight soon revealed the 'alien figure' to merely be a single man perched on the front of a small wagon carrying supplies, perhaps he was a traveling merchant. She suddenly was able to view his face, which quickly became alarmed with shock and surprise.

He pulled back on the lonely horse's reigns, commanding it to come to an abrupt stop, from there, he was able to stare dumb-founded at the scene before him. "Good God, what happened?" he inquired loudly between heavy breaths after a brief moment of silence. Alessa felt her body relax after being hit with a sensation of relief. Her senses quickly snapped back into reality and away from her dream-like state.

"You have to help us!" she pleaded. The man only stared with bewilderment as a strange stillness fell upon them with a strong force. She could see the whites in his wide eyes as he scanned the area, confirming what was a lifeless body and what was not. The small pools and traces of blood scattered across the arid ground with little pattern; it shined with an outlandish, luminescent glow.

"What has happened here?" the man finally bellowed through a shaky voice. Alessa could feel his growing anxiety beaming off of him like rays of light.

Alessa brought herself closer, allowing him to view her better, "We were attacked."

"We?" his question had him peering down at her with intense fright.

She pointed towards Altaïr, who was beginning to show signs of wakening. "Me and my… accomplice," she fumbled for the right description of her hero in white.

"Dear God, are two alright? Is he dead?"

She shook her head from side to side swiftly, "No, he's fine. At least I think so."

"He doesn't look fine from here," the man proclaimed as he shifted in his seat as if ready to jump down.

"He's a tough one." Alessa looked over her shoulder to view Altaïr. His hands were covering his face and his legs were now drawn up. She heaved a soft sigh after witnessing movement from him.

"Well, he's moving, that's good," he stated while lifting his chin up from his chest.

"Can you help us?" Alessa asked after turning back around to the face the friendly stranger.

His eyes fell upon her as his thin lips parted. The plea suddenly absorbed into his thoughts, "You bet I will, where are you two heading?"

She found herself at a stand-still. As far as she could remember, the name of the small village Altaïr had spoke about, before their brutal assault, had now been lost within her memories like a leaf in the wind. She could not recall the name. "I think he said something like-- Capernia or Caperna, it was on the lines of that--" "Capernaum?" he inquired with a bit of hope.

The name hit home, "Yes! That's the one."

"Hmm," he rubbed his chin while his eyes narrowed with thought. "That's pretty close I do believe; it's quite unfortunate you two were attacked so close to your destination, that village is less than a mile away."

"In which direction?" Alessa questioned with glowing eyes of growing bliss and gratitude.

"You think I'm just going to give you directions and then leave you two in this condition?" his words left her confused. "That's crazy talk, allow me to take you both there."

"Oh, no… you shouldn't--"

"No, it would be inhumane if I did anything less. Besides, I have to pass it up on my way to my next stop."

"You're far too kind," she said full-heartedly. Her eyes shifted from the brawny man towards the back of his wagon. "Where do you want us to go?"

He followed her line of sight and soon answered her question, "You both could fit on the back, there's enough room. Most of the stuff I did have, I already sold in Jerusalem, so the weight shouldn't be too hard on Aphra." He tugged lightly on the horse's reigns as it blew air from its widened nostrils.

"That's wonderful; think you could lend me a hand with him?" She gestured towards Altaïr, who was now groaning with irritation to himself.

"Of course," he said right before hopping down. When he landed, the ground around him seemed to send tremors through the dirt. He was rather tall, but mostly fat, nonetheless, his face bared an expression of pure kindness. He was the kind of man that somehow always reminded you of a plump, content grandfather. The man then exhaled deeply at the sight of the aggravated Altaïr as they approached, "He seems rather angry."

"I could only imagine…"

They now stood above Altaïr with watchful eyes. Once his eyes peeled open, he was hit with utter disbelief. "What's going on, who is that?" He sat up quickly while pointing a finger. His reaction had been so energetic and quick, that it left both of them surprised.

"Oh, where's my manners? The name's Bartholomew, but friends and family call me Barth." Alessa looked towards Barth and smiled.

"Bartholomew, eh? And may I ask what's going on?" Altaïr snapped, most likely unaware of his rudeness.

"Altaïr, he's offered to help us get to Capernaum," Alessa replied.

He stared silently, finding himself at a loss of words, before his eyes fell upon Fawzi who seemed to dance in place. "I think we're fine, we have a horse, I don't want it to be too much trouble."

"Non sense, I have an extra bridle, my other horse had broken her leg… had to take her down about a week ago. We'll just strap your's in where she would have originally have gone."

Altaïr didn't seem to be buying the offer. He hid his face under his hood, allowing himself to think thoughtfully. "I don't know, I don't see how it'll work."

"Here, let's get you up so I can show you," Barth announced while bringing his arms forward to grab the oblivious Altaïr who tensed up by the sudden movement.

With one quick motion, he had snatched Altaïr by his under arm, where then both Barth and Alessa guided him towards the wagon. Altaïr seemed mentally resistant, but still allowed his legs to help them carry him. Alessa couldn't find his face within the shadows cast by the point of his hood, but assumed his facial expression was rather distasteful. With his arm linked around over her shoulder, she was able to feel his muscles. Even though his figure was mostly obscured by the amount of robes, she knew he had a beautiful shape.

Altaïr soon found himself sitting on his rear, in the back of the wagon, with his back facing the front; he crossed his arms over his chest while straighten his back. He could only stare mindfully into the distance, over the incline they had climbed earlier, and into the eeriness of the spreading dark. His eyebrows lay furrowed and up against the tops of his eyes as his lids blinked quickly; an aura of "don't touch me, don't look at me, and don't even think about talking to me" had manifested around him. Luckily, for Barth and Alessa, they hadn't noticed his bitterness, for they were several yards away ready to prepare Fawzi. For some reason, Barth seemed to completely understand the young man's reaction; he knew the irritation wasn't directed at his hospitality, but at the situation. The young man had several cuts and injuries that still seeped blood.

Alessa knew Fawzi had taken a rather rude injury to the side, and began searching the horse's torso as closely as she could. Fortunately, Fawzi's coat was a brilliant white, which allowed her to spot the wound in seconds.

It was a small wound, nothing to worry about in the future, but she still gave the brave steed a loving pat to the neck. Fawzi's eyes were wide with worry as he gazed upon his master; his large teeth bared behind flaring, trembling lips.

"It's alright, boy," Barth said calmly while snatching the horse's reigns, "he sure is panicky."

After a short moment of both Alessa and Barth attempting to ease the horse's worries, they soon were able to lead the once frantic Fawzi towards the wagon and closer to his beloved master. As they approached, Alessa could see the backside of Altaïr's upper body, and immediately knew something was bothering him. Maybe it was the thought of his panicked horse, even though he didn't really show signs of unease, Alessa knew he was a good owner and knew he was worried.

At the sound of Fawzi's hooves clicking heavily on the ground, Altaïr turned his head to view his horse with a somewhat hidden joy. After their eyes met they both seemed to relax a little inside; especially Fawzi who had been so worried for his oddly identical partner.

"Just hand me that, right over there," Barth ordered kindly while pointing towards the bridle he had mentioned earlier, "and we'll secure this fine horse in so we can get heading." Alessa hesitated little and did as she was told by grabbing it from the inside of the wagon. The bridle was almost coincidently too close to Altaïr, so she was rather sluggish when seizing the durable piece of equipment. Altaïr has done a rather brilliant job at making Alessa even more curious with who he truly was and why he acted the way he did. She shot him a stare of interest, something that may have gone unnoticed for his hood obscured his eyes.

She lifted the bridle up and handed it over to Barth, who immediately placed it onto Fawzi so professionally and fast that she could almost see part of his unknown life flashing before her.

"Well," Barth began, staring at Alessa from the corners of his eyes with a friendly smile. "I suppose we're all set, let's get going."

Alessa shivered from the cold and wrapped her hands around her arms as best as she could; if she had known the night was supposed to bring suffering and fear instead of festivities and joy, she probably would had worn something that provided a little more cover and warmth. She walked with a wide stride on the side of the wagon towards the rear-end; her hair blowing back over her shoulders, eyes narrowing with thought.

The rear of the wagon sat a lot higher than she had thought it had, something that had gone undetected while helping Altaïr. She lifted her right leg high enough to touch her breasts, allowing her foot to plant into the back of the wagon. Her eyes instantly fell upon her foot, where she was hit with irritation at the sight of her choice of shoe. It had been a fancy, finely crafted sandal that was obviously only worn for special events.

She suddenly had the strong temptation to just scream at the top of her lungs out of aggravation and sadness. For some reason, at the sight of the sandal, she was hit with images of Ciro and her mother and only those two, for she had begun to loath her father. Alessa was not someone to possess a lot of hate of any kind, even after she had been beaten by a crazed man in the street, or robbed of her rights in anyway, and for her to have a feeling of hate for her father…now that was just something completely new. Perhaps it wasn't hate, but anger. She was angry with her father for not defending them or their mother, or anyone for that matter. If the treasure Mohsen had spoke of was true, then this whole chain of tragic events could have been avoided if her father had just told Mohsen what he wanted.

A quick movement caught her eye as she prepared to pull herself up next to her hero. Her eyes followed the movement only to meet Altaïr's broad hand out in front of her, palm opened. It had been his left hand, the hand with the missing ring finger. Oh, how the image brought questions into her mind. She snatched his hand, slightly impressed with his chivalrous ways, and found herself feeling weightless and he assisted her lift. She now stood straight within the wagon, staring distantly at the darkened horizon with many thoughts running wildly through her mind like a bunch of chickens with their heads chopped off. Altaïr peered up at her with watchfulness and waited briefly before snapping her out of her day-dreams.

"Alessa, you need to sit," his deep voice, although slightly scratchy, had her jumping at the sound of it.

"Oh," she replied quietly while taking a quick seat near a set of wooden boxes containing fruit. She wrapped up tightly into a ball with her pointed chin in between her knees and refused to make eye contact with Altaïr. Once Barth got the carriage moving along, she could feel Altaïr's probing eyes staring into the side of her face. She looked out of her peripheral only to confirm his stare; not even the dark of the luminescent night could hide those golden brown eyes of his.

_Why is he staring at me?_ Alessa wasn't one for knowing when someone was gawking at her, but for some reason, his stare could not be unnoticed. It reminded her of the time back in the palace, when he was leaning his weight up against the tall pillar, arms crossed, mouth slightly parted, eyes locked straight ahead. _Out of all of the people to save me, it had to be him; the most mysterious, yet utterly attractive man. How am I supposed to just cope with him?_ She sighed, hoping his eyes would perhaps fall onto Fawzi or even Barth, but he didn't seem to get the message.

Finally, he leaned forward with a smooth mannerism and an outstretched arm. "Alessa, you're arm," his words had her looking up quickly only to stare back down and snatch her arm. She turned it upright, allowing the bloody hole to come into view; the very sight of it had her cringing. "Come here, we'll cover it up so nothing gets inside." The very thought of dirt, or another stick, getting underneath her flesh had her scooting in closer; the heat emitting from his body was welcoming to her cold skin.

Before she could say anything, or disagree for that matter, Altaïr had ripped a piece of linen off of her elongated outfit. "I'm already lacking clothing, you didn't have to rip it."

"What else was I supposed to use?" his eyes drew upwards and sparkled as they fell upon her face. The instant contact forced her to meet his eyes, that stared through dark, intense brows.

"Honestly, I don't know anymore," she replied with a tone a irritation, but mostly sadness. She turned her head away to hide her forming tears. She hated feeling so damn vulnerable. Her hand was able to find her face and cover her mouth while she held back the familiar, upsetting melancholy that had become a new, frequent emotion for her.

Altaïr recognized it easily and could find no words of sympathy. He could only lift her arm up and wrap it up tightly while staring down through the dark. "You have injuries too," Alessa stated.

He shrugged off his own injuries with his words, "I'm fine." Barth watched them both from the corners of his eyes and smiled fatherly.

"I'm assuming you two are… mates," Barth stated abruptly, causing both Alessa and Altaïr too look up swiftly with wide-eyes. "It's good to see that kind of love shared between--"

"No, no, you're getting ahead of yourself, we're not 'mates'," Altaïr interrupted with no signs of hesitance.

"Oh," Barth turned in his seat to view the two, a wide ear-to-ear smile spreading across his face, "my bad."

Instantly, Altaïr shot Alessa a look that almost had her melting. It was a cross of playfulness and aggravation, it may have been the hardest expression to read on someone.

"Just friends?"

"Sure," Altaïr said after leaning backwards with a relaxed sigh.

Alessa stared down at her arm, holding it meekly, and began touching the recent make-shift bandage Altaïr had produced. It had already possessed a small dot of blood and threatened to cut-off her circulation in her arm, due to how tight he had wrapped it. Which, truthfully, was a good thing. She peered up to be met with Barth's boyish, friendly smile.

"Where are you two from?"

Alessa hesitated, along with Altaïr, who could only sit quietly with no reply. "Nazareth," Alessa answered.

Barth nodded with an expression of understanding plastering his wide face. "Very nice city, it's clean, well-kept, and the crime level is minimal. To be honest, I thought your answer would be different, little lady."

Alessa looked up curiously with raised eyebrows. "How so?"

"Well," he began, taking one more look at her before turning his attention back to the road, "you don't even remotely resemble the appearance of the natural residents. I assumed you had maybe been shipped from Europe with the others that had just recently arrived in the Holy Land." Barth's words had Altaïr glancing at Alessa from under his hood. "You're just so fair…"

"I suppose that makes sense," her eyes found the sky as she pondered, "but I've been here for as long as I can remember, I'm pretty sure I was conceived here, but…my father did mention something awhile ago about his home in Italy."

Barth shrugged and flicked both of the horses' reigns. "Italy, eh?" Barth paused, "Makes more sense. How about you, young man?" Barth's back was turned along with his head, so when Altaïr looked up to make eye contact, he was only met with the back of Barth's brown head.

He waited a long while before answering. "I don't know."

The reply had Barth looking over his right shoulder with bewilderment. "You don't know? Well, isn't that silly?" Barth said with a pleasant, joking tone, but Altaïr was clearly not in the mood for humor, and it was only confirmed when he stared flatly. Barth soon caught on, and realized that perhaps he had hit a sensitive spot. "Don't want to talk about it? I understand."

"No," Altaïr began while his eyes fell down upon his legs, where his right hand fiddled with the red sash that lay in his lap. "I honestly have no idea, that is all." Altaïr could feel Barth's stare disappear, which allowed his once tense body to relax.

Barth nodded agreeably and looked ahead, "Nothing wrong with that." His fatherly, kind presence was enough to make anyone feel comfortable. Alessa had to admit she loved the man's presence, it allowed her to forget her anger towards her own father. But to think, not even to know where you were born? Did he even know his own parents? Alessa glanced at the side of Altaïr's tanned face. _I couldn't even imagine._ There was this seemingly long moment of silence, that was rather relaxing as the night air passed by their faces.

Alessa broke the serenity. "Where are you from, Barth?"

Barth chuckled lightly. Judging by his recent accent and features, she guessed he may have grown up in a Hebrew family. "I was born in Jerusalem, but my father found a better job in this city called Qunaytra, located near Syria, so that's where I stayed until I was nineteen years of age." He flicked the reigns again. Fawzi appeared in a world of his own; enjoying the setup and his newly met horse friend.

The carriage moved steadily as time stood still in this make-believe world. Alessa continued to wait for her eyes to pop open and be hit with fresh sunlight, finding herself cozy in her bed. But she knew that reality was cruel, and this was no dream.

As the city's, Capernaum, faded lights came into view. Altaïr used his weakening legs to make himself stand for a better view, confirming the city's identity.

"Well, here's Capernaum. Known for its simplicity and homely feel, oh, and of course, carpet merchants." Barth announced with his booming voice.

"You don't need to bring us all the way to the front, right up here will be perfect." Altaïr said, pointing a finger at the location.

Barth turned in his seat. "Positive? I don't mind bringing--"

"Positive."

With that, Barth brought the horses several yards further before coming to a complete stop, where Altaïr immediately hopped down from the back. His boots stirred the lifeless dust on the ground. Alessa followed his lead and stayed closely behind, keeping a restless eye on her surroundings.

"Barth, I thank you deeply for helping." Altaïr finally said after bringing himself to the front of the carriage.

"It's quite alright, young man. We'll get your horse free and you two can be on your way."

While Barth and Altaïr removed Fawzi's bridles, Barth had grabbed Altaïr's hand, placing an object Alessa could not see into his palm. Altaïr looked down at it and shook his head.

"Absolutely not, you've done enough." Altaïr pleaded full-heartedly.

"No, take it. I can't help but see my own children in you two." He replied, turning his head in Alessa's direction before averting it back to Altaïr. Altaïr, again, shook his head. "Please, _take _it. It isn't much, but it helps."

There was a short moment of where the two men stared at each other's faces before the man in white finally gave it.

"Thank you."

Barth nodded and brought himself back into his seat. "You two be safe, you hear?"

Both Alessa and Altaïr watched him and nodded with agreement.

Altaïr lifted his chin up to reply, "You as well."

While Barth traveled away Alessa approached Altaïr from the side to look at what was in his grasp.

"What'd he give you?" She inquired thoughtfully.

He took a brief second to ponder, before angling his body in her direction; he held out his right hand and opened his wide palm. It had been a small amount of money, something Barth _definitely_ did not need to give them.

"That was incredibly kind."

"It was," Altaïr confirmed before walking towards the city's gate with Fawzi's reigns in hand.


End file.
